


Illuminating the Possibilities

by Witchy1ness



Category: Aladdin (1992)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Aladdin (Disney Movies) Fusion, Gen, Politics, more historical!Disney, parenthood is a trap, rags to riches isn't always an easy adjustment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26880031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchy1ness/pseuds/Witchy1ness
Summary: Sequel to 'A Friend Like Me.' Jafar learns there's a lot more to being a father than simply giving your name. Contains more Jafar backstory, training montages, and Aladdin trying to find his footing in his new lot in life.
Relationships: Jafar & Aladdin, Jafar & Hakim, some Aladdin/Jasmine
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'M FINALLY DONE!! (Also my 50th story! weeee!!)
> 
> I started writing this nearly immediately after posting the first part (inspired by ConnorProject2K17's comment that they wanted to read about Aladdin training under Jafar), and it got waaaaay longer than I expected it to! I also now have a partially sketched outline for part 3 T_T 
> 
> Useful(?) info:  
> Gad/Manāt/Anbay and Haukim/Sa’d/Abgal/Basamun/Dhul Kalasa – deities that were part of the animistic-polytheistic beliefs present in pre-Islamic Arabia; notably, Sa'd was worshipped with animal sacrifice
> 
> I went down a serious rabbit hole trying to place where and when the fictional kingdom of Agrabah would exist. In the movie(s), Agrabah is set in an Islamic society; trivia states that the 1992 movie (which is sort of the main foundation of this fic) is set somewhere in 500 BCE – 323 BCE; before Islam was the prevailing religion in the region. So I have set my Agrabah at a time where Islam is just starting to gain traction; and while Jafar personally still follows the gods he grew up with, he makes a public show of following the new one, as his Sultan is an adherent and the Royal Vizier is an intelligent man. 
> 
> **Jafar’s opinions on religion are not my own, and I truly intend no offense in my descriptions**
> 
> That being said, if there is something offensive/incorrect about what I have written in regards to Islam (or anything else!), please let me know so I can correct it!
> 
> EDIT: Forgot the disclaimer, whoops! I don't own ANY of it; it is all the property of Disney, and/or Edward Kitsis and Adam Horowitz/ABC Studios; I'm just borrowing it :)

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When Hakim appeared in the doorway of the Royal Vizier’s study holding Aladdin by the scruff of his neck while Abu chittered madly from one of the boy’s shoulders, Jafar mentally bid good-bye to getting any more work done that afternoon.

_Now what?_

Repressing a sigh, he laid the final missive in the servant’s basket and dismissed the man with a nod, his gaze sharpening as he rose from his desk and took in his son’s (and that was still a word that sat oddly on the tongue) unusually disheveled and dusty appearance – and was that a black eye beginning to appear?

It was fairly obvious _what_ had happened, though the thought of the _Prince of Agrabah_ getting into a fistfight was enough for a headache to start forming.

Knowing that pressing too harshly on an issue would make the former street rat clam right up, he stifled his initial impulse to blast the boy.

Glancing out the window to confirm the time instead as the Captain of the Guard shoved the petulant child – for all that society said Aladdin was already four years into adulthood, his actions frequently indicated otherwise – into the room, the Royal Vizier fought to keep his tone even as he remarked, “Mathematics seems to have grown rougher than I remember it being.”

Shooting his escort a dirty look, Aladdin deliberately avoided making eye contact – typical of their interactions – with his father (another word that also still didn’t sit right) as he focussed putting his clothing back to rights, Abu climbing all over him and generally impeding the process.

At the boy’s refusal to answer Jafar addressed his next question to the Captain instead, fighting to keep an even tone as his temper began to simmer.

“What happened?”

_As if I had no idea. But knowing the ‘what’ does not tell me the ‘who’…which is what I need to ensure the proper recipients are…corrected._

He wasn’t even conscious of gesturing for his staff until it was in his hand, the power stored within beginning to hum through his veins and causing the spells stored in the rings he wore to writhe in anticipation.

“Nothing!” Aladdin blurted out before the Captain could respond, gaze flicking to and away from the ominously glowing eyes of the staff.

“Nothing happened,” he repeated, doing his best to sound firm as he met the Royal Vizier’s eyes.

_And I was born yesterday. I think not, boy._

Jafar’s eyebrows rose skeptically and Hakim grunted, crossing his arms as he eyed the young man in front of him contemplatively. “He was in one of the smaller training courtyards, getting his ass kicked while the rug tried to protect him.”

“I was winning!” snapped the boy, uneasiness momentarily forgotten.

“Sure you were,” the guard retorted dryly. “That’s why you were on the ground, curled up like an armadillo lizard.”

“It was a wrestling move! I was getting ready for my next attack!”

“You _should have been_ getting ready for your Mathematics lesson,” Jafar cut in sharply, causing Aladdin to scowl and fall silent.

“Now, what started it, and who was involved?”

A mulish expression crossed Aladdin’s face, and he crossed his arms defiantly as he once more refused to answer.

It had started so promisingly, Jafar reflected, exasperated. The boy had initially shown himself to be an eager – if somewhat easily distracted – student, soaking up everything his tutors had thrown at him. He’d especially enjoyed his martial learning, to the point that more or less training was used to reward or punish as necessary.

But there had been a slow change in Aladdin’s behaviour over the past few weeks that the boy refused to explain. He’d taken to skipping lessons, talking back to his tutors when he did deign to show up, and had even gotten into an actual argument with his wife!

(Jafar wouldn’t have believed _that_ rumour – Aladdin had taken to following Jasmine around like a love-sick calf ever since the wedding – if said Princess hadn’t come storming into the Royal Vizier’s study demanding an explanation for the change to her husband’s personality; as if _he’d_ have any idea!)

And now getting into an actual _fistfight_ – clearly, the Royal Vizier had been too lax with handling the matter; for someone who was still on trial under the Sultan’s eye and claimed to want this opportunity, the boy was now doing everything in his power to squander it.

A situation which was made ever more precarious by the knowledge that there was a lot more at risk than just his marriage.

“Sit,” he ordered Aladdin, jerking his chin at a nearby sofa. 

Aladdin scowled back and refused to move, sending Jafar’s temper flaring.

_May Gad take your luck!_

With a wave of his hand he sent the boy flying none-too-gently onto the piece of furniture, knocking a few of the pillows askew and sending Abu into a renewed fit of chattering.

“Hey! If the genie were here –“

Jafar resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Aladdin had been rather relentless in his demands to see said genie since he’d let the being slip through his fingers, but though Jafar had turned a deaf ear to them, the constant repetition was beginning to fray at his nerves. It wasn’t helping that the genie’s friend – if such a term could be applied to a sentient carpet – had been literally _moping_ about the entire time.

“But he isn’t and he won’t be, so be _silent.”_

Another motion kept both boy and monkey pinned in place sharply enough to cut off their dual protestations as the Royal Vizier turned back to the Captain.

“So you just happened to find him?”

He indicated for the other man to take a seat, deciding there was no point in standing on ceremony, though Jafar kept his staff with him.

Rolling his eyes as he sat, Hakim jerked his chin in the direction of Iago’s perch, empty for the moment.

“You ever seen a parrot carrying a monkey before?”

“Excuse me?”

Jafar wasn’t often taken aback, but he could only blink at the other man as he tried to parse the simple sentence.

“I was just finishing lunch when Iago flew in, the monkey holding onto his legs and losing his little mind.”

Said monkey stopped muttering long enough to let out an affronted-sounding chirp, which both men ignored.

The Royal Vizier narrowed his eyes, fingers unconsciously clenching around his staff as a tendril of concern wove through him on realizing his familiar hadn’t flown in with them. “Then where is –“

“Iago’s fine. He and the carpet are with Dahlia, both whining and complaining –“ Hakim paused, clearly unsure about how to describe something whining and complaining when it had no mouth, but forged ahead “ – about how overworked they are and letting the children spoil them rotten. The carpet will probably have to carry Iago back after Omar and Lian stuff him full of treats.”

Jafar relaxed back in his seat. Though Iago could be a trial at times, he was still rather fond of the bird; it wouldn’t hurt to let the familiar enjoy the pampering.

 _At least one of us should enjoy their afternoon_ , he thought as he stroked his beard and eyed his problem child. The injury-seeking rune he’d woven into Aladdin’s sit-down-and-stay hadn’t flared bright enough to his Sight to indicate anything broken, at least.

A sigh came hard on the heels of that thought as he realized that once Jasmine caught sight of what had happened to her precious Ali (the black eye looked to actually be two, for starters), she’d be in Jafar’s study once more with all the subtlety of a monsoon, argument between them or no.

_A problem for later._

“So then you followed Iago and Abu to where Aladdin was….practicing his wrestling moves?”

“Essentially.”

“Who were they?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Aladdin broke in again, tone defiant. “I’ll take care of it; they won’t get me again.”

“It _does_ matter, and _you_ won’t be doing anything. Not by yourself, at least,” the Royal Vizier corrected him sharply, causing the boy to look at him in surprise and…was that gratitude?

Whatever it was, it vanished as Jafar continued speaking. “You are the Prince of Agrabah and the consort to the future Sultan! You will stand with Jasmine as _the_ symbol of Agrabah’s strength when she ascends the throne. To be getting into fights with those you may very well be ruling over – and then _losing_!”

His agitation was enough to have him up and pacing as he continued to lecture, his cape flaring like an echo of his emotions when he turned.

“If our enemies catch wind of this, they’ll begin to think Agrabah weak and ripe for invasion as soon as Jasmine takes the throne – long live the Sultan. Not to mention that as far as everyone outside this room is concerned, you are the son of the Royal Vizier of Agrabah. An attack on _you_ is an attack on _me._ Legally speaking, I would be well within my rights as your…father to request that they be put to death for their transgressions.”

Jafar pinched the bridge of his nose as he continued, trying to hold back the headache threatening to explode behind his eyes.

“Though if the Sultan were to hear about this, it is very likely he’d save me the trouble and order the fools executed himself for daring to attack the Prince. And depending on who your attackers were –“ Hakim gave a blink-and-miss-it grimace, an expression that raised warning bells in Jafar’s mind though he didn’t pause in his lecture,“– that could then incite their families to come after _me_ in order to exact revenge. The whole enterprise could very well end up spurring the Court factions who are against me into overt action and dumping the Palace into a political war; which would take up tremendous amounts of time and effort to avert that I don’t wish to expend, all because of an issue that shouldn’t have occurred in the first place!”

The blank expression that smoothed itself over the boy’s face as Jafar spoke pleased the Royal Vizier; surprisingly, the former street rat had quickly developed a near-perfect politician’s mask.

It was also annoying, as he hadn’t intended for the boy to turn the skill on _him._ Jafar let his irritation bleed into his tone as he finished.

“– And if they get it into their tiny little brains to suggest that perhaps another man would serve better as the Princess’s husband –”

“I could lose Jasmine?!”

The panic that now flooded Aladdin’s face was gratifying, as the severity of his situation _finally_ seemed to sink in; though Jafar could have stood to see a little more self-preservation from the boy.

“You could lose your _head_ , you idiot! And mine could potentially be rolling immediately behind it!”

“I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself – if you’ll excuse the expression,” Hakim broke in mildly, before Aladdin could retort; tugging on his beard he shot Jafar a look the other man couldn’t interpret.

“I couldn’t identify all of them as they were all wearing their training uniforms and had their shemagh tied over their faces, but I recognized a few nephews and a third son of other viziers.”

_Lie._

If Hakim was able to identify that many of Aladdin’s assailants even without being able to see their faces, there was no way he didn’t have at least a suspicion of who the remainder were. But if that were the case, why lie about it?

 _Is it_ because _he only suspects who they are, and wants to confirm first? Or is it because he does know, but doesn’t want_ me _to?_

If it was the first, fair enough; he’d give the Captain a few days and then ask again. If it was the latter situation...well, the Royal Vizier had his own ways of finding things out _._

“How many were there?”

“Six,” Hakim admitted. “Of the ones I recognized, you might get one or two fathers or uncles raising a bit of a fuss, but I doubt it’ll be any noisier in the _Kubbealti_ than usual. Certainly, none of them have enough balls to confess to the Sultan what happened… _or_ suggest that his new son-in-law is unfit.”

Jafar frowned, somewhat mollified over Aladdin’s lack of success – it would be hard to expect a fully-trained warrior to hold off six opponents, never mind one who’d only been training for a few months – but Aladdin interrupted before he could formulate how to press Hakim on his lie about the assailant’s identities. 

“Unfit! What, just because I wasn’t born with gold slippers on my feet? I’m ahead of nearly all of them in my studies, and the only reason I hadn’t been beating their asses was because _you_ –“ this thrown accusingly at Hakim, “– said I’m not allowed to fight _dishonourably_.”

The last word is spat with enough scorn to bring thunderclouds to Hakim’s face, but Jafar quickly intervened.

“And the fact that you didn’t actually works in our favour,” he said smoothly, agile mind already spinning through new scenarios and potential avenues of action.

It’s a tricky tightrope to walk – having clawed his way up to the exulted post of Royal Vizier, Jafar is acutely aware of needing to present a certain image in all aspects of his life, public _and_ private – the latter of which is never as private as one would prefer.

But having grown up like Aladdin, he is also familiar with the instinct to deal harshly enough with his enemies the _first_ time that they will slither off in search of easier prey.

 _Regretfully, Aladdin’s position as Prince precludes that type of simple recourse,_ he thought, freshly annoyed. It would be so tempting to teach the little worms a _permanent_ lesson; but if the years had taught Jafar anything, it was to be selective when it came to creating bodies. And given that he suspected the Captain of withholding information…

“This won’t be the last incident,” Hakim warned. “Not now that they’ve got the scent of blood in their noses.”

“As it is your _job_ as Captain of the Guards to ensure the safety of the Sultan and his family, you had better ensure it _is_ the last incident,” Jafar snapped back, aggravated.

_Until I find out who those other boys are, my hands are tied. Well, to a certain extent._

As most people still considered Iago just a dumb bird, he’d be able to send his familiar nosing around for information. 

Hakim bristled and shot to his feet, but the Royal Vizier didn’t give him time to unleash the lightning flashing in his gaze.

“Are the perpetrators in Aladdin’s training cohort?”

“One of them is,” the Captain eventually answered through gritted teeth, clearly suspicious of what the Royal Vizier could be planning. “Three others aren’t, but they are in the same cohort as each other. But as I said, the last two boys I couldn’t identify. Why?”

Jafar ignored the question, distracted by the warning bell ringing once more the back of his mind as the Captain lied again. He _needed_ to know who those other boys were.

The magic humming in his veins thrummed louder as his hand clenched about his staff, the eyes of the cobra beginning to gleam red once again. It would be so easy to bring that magic to bear on the Captain, to force him to reveal everything he knew….

The sharp glint in Hakim’s dark eyes was the flash of light off a bared sword, and he didn’t have to speak a word to get his message across.

Jafar _could_ use magic to get the information he wanted, but the moment he released his hold on the Captain the Royal Vizier would be a dead man.

 _Or rather, he’d_ try _to kill me; one of us would end up dead, I’ve no doubt, but the other wouldn’t necessarily be in any better shape._

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Captain,” Jafar said aloud instead, mentally sighing as he reluctantly decided against the risk. “Rest assured I will be giving the situation my _utmost_ attention.”

Hakim scowled, recognizing a dismissal and a warning when he heard them. “Just make sure your _utmost attention_ doesn’t create a situation that will require _you_ being brought to _my_ attention, Vizier,” he warned in response.

Exchanging grim smiles of mutual understanding, the Captain flicked one more admonishing look towards the recalcitrant teen before taking his leave.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shemagh – I think this is the right word; basically the large scarf that can be tied to protect the face from harsh desert conditions
> 
> Kubbealti – literal translation “under the dome”; where the viziers of the Ottoman Empire would meet to conference, and borrowed for Agrabah to describe where Jafar rules the other viziers


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirwāl – ie. Harem pants, ie. Hammer pants (if you’re old enough to get that reference); basically, making sure Aladdin doesn’t get too big for his britches.

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Turning his full attention on his…son, Jafar studied Aladdin as intently as he’d ever studied a new spell.

The last few months had been rather tumultuous; while Aladdin had settled into life in the Palace, he and Jafar had attempted to cobble together enough of an act to fool everyone into thinking that not only were the Royal Vizier and his son overjoyed at the discovery of each other, but also that Jafar was very, very protective.

The truth was rather…somewhere in the middle. The protective part was no act, though it had more to do with political reasons then personal. The problem was that Aladdin, having essentially done what he wanted, when he wanted, and _how_ he wanted for the majority of his life, now chafed at what he perceived as the restrictions of having not only a father whom he was expected to obey, but one who was also a major political figure (having such a man as a father-in-law, on the other hand – even one who held the threat of potential death over his head if things didn’t work out, at that – was evidently a non-issue) who required a certain level of decorum from his son at all times.

Jafar mentally grimaced as he resumed his seat across from Aladdin. When it came to the ‘joy’ part of it, on the other hand…

 _I truly cannot comprehend why people would_ want _children. So much work for so little reward._

Oh, he knew he was _expected_ to have them, of course; as that was what one did when they were part of the nobility.

But contrary to this overwhelming societal attitude, Jafar had spent the majority of his life aiming to get to where he was for _himself_ , not so he could potentially pass on said position to a no-longer-hypothetical son. Claiming Aladdin for his own had merely been the means to ensure the Princess had a husband of an acceptable societal caste.

Though the Royal Vizier had claimed Aladdin’s mother as a wife who had died in childbirth, (along with the story that her sister, who had resented Jafar, had lied about his son dying as well before spiriting the babe away), there were many in the Court who believed the boy to be rather…less legitimate. But due to the Royal Vizier’s – and not to mention the Sultan’s – very public acknowledgement of the boy, Agrabahnian laws – both religious and secular – declared that was the end of it, publically speaking.

It didn’t stop people from talking behind closed doors, of course; but since that was all they could do the Royal Vizier wasn’t particularly bothered. He _had_ ensured there were people paying attention to what people were saying behind said doors, but nothing had been brought to his attention that would require him to take action. 

When his oversight finally dawned on him, Jafar had to grit his teeth to keep from cursing. While he had instructed his _informants_ to keep him apprised of what the rumours and whispers were saying, he’d completely neglected to inform _Aladdin_ to do the same!

Nor had it occurred to him to instruct the boy on how to handle the whispers and rumours. He should have considered that Aladdin would not react the way a child brought up in the Palace would.

_What has passed has passed. The focus now needs to be on handling the repercussions. Though this fight will have definite political ramifications, were they the intention from the beginning, or just the end fallout from young bulls getting into fights over differences of birth? Or was something else the catalyst?_

The belligerent expression on the boy’s face made Jafar’s fingers twitch with the reflex to spell him upside down; perhaps a period of inversion would force the blood back into the boy’s brain and he’d start using it again.

“May I be excused for my mathematics lesson?”

The Royal Vizier’s eyes narrowed in suspicion at this placid about-face, but Aladdin met his gaze calmly, the effect somewhat spoiled by the clenched fists he was unable to hide. Abu had curled around Aladdin’s neck, mostly silent but for the occasional worried-sounding chirrup.

“It’s a little late for that,” was his dry response, as Jafar crossed his arms and continued contemplating the boy. He let his staff hang beside him, knowing how much the sight would unnerve Aladdin.

His continued uneasiness with his father’s arcane abilities was something that pleased the Royal Vizier. It was one thing for the boy to swagger around with all the bravado his new position in life accorded him, but it wouldn’t do for him to be getting _too_ big for his sirwāl.

Aladdin scowled but didn’t press, changing the topic instead and blatantly ignoring the staff. “What are you scheming now?”

Jafar was instantly insulted.

_Scheming! You little – as if I were some villain in a child’s fairy tale!_

“I don’t _scheme_ ,” he spat icily, the urge to spell the boy upside down – perhaps while dangling him out the window – growing stronger with the particularly insolent look this response garnered.

“I _strategize._ And then I use whatever tactics required in order to carry out those strategies.”

He stood, using his height and the fact Aladdin was still stuck to the couch to loom over the boy as his patience ran out. Bringing his staff forward he relaxed his hold on the magic that had been swirling just beneath his skin the entire time.

“You _will_ tell me what started the fight,” he crooned, heady with the feelings that always rushed through him when he exercised his Art.

Aladdin’s eyelids drooped, swirls of red dancing in his irises as Jafar’s power took hold. Not easily, as of course the foolish boy was fighting it.

“I…will…tell…you… _nothing!”_

The Royal Vizier snarled a curse as Abu let out an ear-piercing screech and jumped at him. He managed to bat the animal out of the way before freezing it in place, prompting a truly impressive waterfall of epithets to spill from Aladdin.

“I’ll deal with this myself!”

Jafar barely resisted the urge to strangle the boy. “Were you not _listening_ , you young idiot?! _This goes beyond you!_ You will need my help –“

“Need your help to do what, Jafar?”

Both men jerked in surprise, neither having heard the study doors open.

“Jasmine! – Oh, shit.”

 _Oh shit_ _indeed_ , Jafar thought with a groan, as Jasmine caught a proper look at her husband and let out a shocked gasp.

“Allah preserve – Ali what _happened?!_ ”

Behind her, Dahlia’s normally pleasant expression slipped a moment as she cast her gaze upward and then immediately left the room.

Iago, who’d come floating in behind her on Carpet, winged his way to Jafar. His crop was so round the Royal Vizier had to catch him mid-air as he struggled to fly, while the rug joined Jasmine in fussing over Aladdin.

“Enjoy your afternoon?” Jafar’s tone was dryer than the sand dunes in the desert, but Iago either ignored it or didn’t notice, letting out a tortured squawk.

“If I gotta eat one more of those soft, delicious crackers I’m gonna burst.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jafar sighed as he helped the bird onto his shoulder.

Jasmine was cooing sickeningly at the boy, who was doing his best to reassure both his wife and the flying rug that everything was alright, and Jafar admitted defeat. Waving his staff back to its stand, he managed to collect himself before the Princess whirled around, anger flashing across her pretty features.

Fortunately for the Royal Vizier, Rajah appeared to have been left elsewhere and so didn’t require guarding against, as the big cat typically took his behavioural cues from his mistress, and Jafar did not feel up to dealing with the big cat at the moment.

“Jafar, _what_ is the meaning of this?!”

_Ah yes. As if I had anything to do with it._

“He wasn’t involved with this,” Aladdin blurted out in a surprising parallel to the Royal Vizier’s thoughts.

“I’ll say. There’d be nothing left if Jafar – awk!”

Iago flapped to keep his balance as Jafar twitched his shoulder hard, distracting the bird.

“Of course,” sarcasm practically dripped from the princess’ lips. “I’m sure the Royal Vizier has _absolutely nothing_ to do with why you and Abu haven’t moved so much as a finger since I arrived.”

Aladdin immediately looked abashed. “Ah, no that is – I mean, yes –“

Gritting his teeth Jafar gestured, the spells on the boy and the monkey dissipating while Aladdin continued to trip over his tongue.

“– I just meant he had nothing to do with the fight –“

_Manāt guide us, my son is an idiot._

Jafar didn’t even bother reprimanding Iago’s croaking laughter.

“ _You were fighting?!”_ Jasmine blurted out, clearly horrified.

_How, exactly, did she think her beloved husband wound up looking like he does?_

The suspicious expression she aimed at Jafar answered that unasked question rather insultingly – he had never laid a hand on a boy, but clearly orchestrating her marriage with her One True Love hadn’t erased his villain status with the Princess.

_“Jasmine.”_

Before Aladdin, the Royal Vizier had had little to no interaction with the Princess’ head maid – in fact, he’d had little to no interaction with anyone not directly related to his office; since claiming the boy he’d been forced into regular contact with several people as a rather regretful side effect of having said Princess as a daughter-in-law.

His initial impression of the Princess’ head maid as a quiet, mild woman hadn’t changed much, but he’d become exceedingly grateful for her ability to cow children with a single word or look.

_Must be all the practice she gets._

“But Dahlia –!”

Dahlia frowned as she continued to walk briskly towards them, medical supplies tucked under one arm and a basin full of gently steaming water carried by the other.

“You’re letting your worry and upset cloud that intelligence you’re so proud of having. You don’t honestly think the Royal Vizier did this, do you?”

Jasmine visibly collected herself, shaking her head as she dropped her gaze.

Dahlia gave a firm nod. “Exactly. Now, your husband’s awake, breathing and speaking normally, and there’s no visible blood. I imagine it isn’t the first time he’s gotten into a scrap, so there’s no need to fuss over much.”

She sat down beside Aladdin, handing Jasmine the basin as she turned her attention to scrutinizing Aladdin’s face.

“Not to mention it might give him the bright idea of getting into _more_ trouble, just to have you fuss over him again.”

Aladdin went bright red, but his sputtering went ignored as Dahlia opened the basket holding her supplies and began pulling out cloths and a small bottle.

“He has no internal injuries either,” Jafar added with a sigh, glad that there was finally someone here who could handle all the…hysterics.

“I am sorry, Jafar; for accusing you. I wasn’t – I wasn’t thinking.”

To her credit, the Princess sounded sincerely contrite, and Jafar felt his aggravation bleed away. “I am aware you regard me as…less than supportive of the two of you, your Highness,” he said as gently as he could. “But nothing could be further from the truth. I have and will continue to do everything in my power to ensure that you – and Agrabah – will remain safe.”

With a small nod, Jasmine sat on her husband’s other side, taking his hand as she watched Dahlia’s efficiency, the upset leaving her face to be replaced with the soft glow of love; a common enough expression since their wedding.

“Ali, what happened? And don’t tell me you got into a fight; that’s clear enough.”

“It was just a…disagreement that got out of hand. It won’t again, I swear, Jasmine.”

“It shouldn’t have happened in the first place,” she said gently, and Jafar bit back the urge to rub his forehead as the same words he’d said provoked only a guilty expression instead of a tantrum.

 _Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,_ he mentally sighed.

“I can assure you that the situation will be…handled, Your Highness,” Jafar reassured the Princess firmly, making a mental note to speak with Hakim sooner rather than later.

“I will handle it myself,” Aladdin snapped back – clearly intelligence had once again been replaced, this time with bravado upon his wife’s appearance; it was somewhat mitigated by Dahlia holding his chin in one hand. “I don’t care what Hakim says, I’ll fight them properly next time and – “

“Aladdin –“

“And by properly I presume you mean street brawling?” The Royal Vizier finally snapped, nearly snarling. “ _Princes. Don’t. Fight!_ They _especially_ do not fight like street thugs! _Should_ it come to it, there are ways of fighting honourably _and ‘_ properly’, as you so charmingly put it.”

Jafar struggled to regain his calm, though the insolent shrug he received in response only served to fan his anger higher. On his shoulder, Iago began to mutter under his breath about humans and supposed higher intelligence.

“I doubt many will agree you with on the Arts – which I don’t have any talent for anyways, in case you’ve forgotten, old man.”

The Royal Vizier leveled the full force of his personality on the boy, gratified when Abu yipped and scrambled to hide in the boy’s clothes as Aladdin audibly gulped and the rug dove behind the couch.

Dahlia continued unperturbed, which was irritating in its own way. Jasmine remained quiet, though given the unhappy looks she was sending Aladdin, it was likely due to the unpalatable fact that she was more in agreement with the Royal Vizier then her husband.

“I am not talking about the Arts,” Jafar forced out through gritted teeth, slipping into breathing exercises to prevent a sudden return to childlessness. 

“Do you really think fighting _again_ would be the best way to address the situation?”

There was enough spice in Dahlia’s tone to make Aladdin hunch his shoulders reflexively, while Jafar rubbed his temple in a vain effort to ward off the headache starting to pound behind his left eye.

“There will _not_ be any more fighting.”

The Royal Vizier’s tone was sharp enough to flay flesh from bone, and earned him calculating looks from both women, which he ignored.

“Dunno if I’d call what he was doing _fighting_ ,” Iago cracked, mockingly beginning to preen at the dark look the boy shot him. Jafar ignored him as well.

“This matter cannot – and will not – be left unaddressed, of course. You, Aladdin, are to do _nothing_ but continue as usual –” Jafar paused, casting a critical eye over the two black eyes and various other bruises that were beginning to bloom quite spectacularly, “ – though perhaps it would be better for you to suddenly take ill; at least until your bruises fade enough they can be covered with cosmetics.”

Aladdin attempted to screw up his face in disgust, but yelped in pain instead. “ _Men_ don’t wear _cosmetics_.”

“And what, exactly, do you think kohl is?” Dahlia demanded, tongue clearly firmly in cheek as the boy sputtered once more.

“Kohl doesn’t count!”

Jasmine rolled her eyes, clearly fed up with her husband’s antics. “She knows it doesn’t count, Ali, she’s just riling you up. _Again._ ”

Clearly there was a story there, but it wasn’t one Jafar had any interest in.

“I could always Heal you,” he pointed out instead, a sarcastic edge in his tone as he awaited the predictable response.

On his shoulder, Iago began to snicker.

“ _No_ thank you,” Aladdin blurted out quickly, tacking on a semi-respectful “Father” at Dahlia’s reproving look as she cleaned up her supplies. “I’ll just…be sick for a few days.”

“I’ve some poultices and tinctures that will help the bruising fade faster,” Dahlia said in a no-nonsense tone as she stood.

In point of fact, Jafar was perfectly capable of making those same poultices and tinctures, but decided against revealing said fact. It would clearly be a wasted effort.

“In that case, unless you’d like to share just what, exactly started the fight – or who was involved…” the Royal Vizier trailed off, head inclined rather pointedly in the direction of the study doors. It was admittedly a breach of etiquette to order the Prince – being second only to the Sultan still put the Royal Vizier below the rest of the royal family, no matter that Jafar was supposedly his father – but Aladdin either wasn’t aware of that fact or had forgotten it, and the Royal Vizier had no interest in clarifying which it was.

He bit back a sigh as Aladdin wasted no time, doing what could only be charitably called a proper leave-taking before tossing out a “Thanks Dahlia! Good-bye father!” over his shoulder as he practically dragged a surprised Jasmine out with him, Abu and Carpet right behind them.

Why _do people want children, exactly?_

It was only when Dahlia laughed that Jafar realized he’d spoken aloud.

“They do make you question yourself sometimes, don’t they?”

“It’s not _myself_ I’m questioning,” he replied flatly, unreasonably nettled by the small, knowing smile the woman wore.

“Fair enough,” she conceded with a sigh. “Would you like me to let you know what the Princess finds out about the fight, Royal Vizier?”

Why she thought that question needed _asking_ escaped Jafar, but Iago saved him from saying something that would no doubt reduce the female to tears.

“So long as you don’t tell us _how_ she found out!”

Laughing, Dahlia reached up and gave Iago a quick head scratch before she left, something she had never before dared to do with the bird sitting on the Royal Vizier’s shoulder.

It was another annoyance to lay squarely at Aladdin’s feet, as before ‘discovering’ he had a son, people would not have dared to feel so… _comfortable_ in the Royal Vizier’s presence.

As the door clicked behind her Jafar turned back towards his desk, debating the merits of doing more paperwork versus a goblet of wine.

“Don’t suppose the kid happened to mention his calligraphy tutor quit?”

Jafar groaned.

_A very large goblet of wine, I think._

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	3. Chapter 3

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Jafar’s intention to do...something…once he ascertained the identities of Aladdin’s remaining assailants hits an unexpected hiccup when he can’t.

Careful probes of the court net him nothing, which suggests that either the last two boys aren’t part of Agrabah’s court, or they are and someone is shielding them. There _shouldn’t_ be anyone in the palace able to do so against the Royal Vizier, but the evidence is suggesting otherwise.

Turning to other avenues fails him as well; Dahlia reported that Aladdin refused to say anything more about it to his wife, nearly resulting in another argument. And as it turned out, Iago hadn’t actually seen the beginning of the fight, so he hadn’t had any information about what had started it _or_ been able to identify any of the assailants.

The Royal Vizier had then gritted his teeth and attempted to communicate with Abu, but it was apparent that while the animal was marginally more intelligent than he had credited it with being, trying to pry any _useful_ information out of it was like trying to get water out of sand.

The less said about his attempts with the rug the better.

Aladdin was, of course, still refusing to speak to him about it, and Hakim had also remained infuriatingly closed-mouthed about the whole thing when Jafar had eventually given in and asked.

It was enough to make the Royal Vizier’s skin practically boil with magic, but cooler reason had eventually prevailed.

It was this reasoning that had Jafar joining Hakim on a terrace three mornings after the day of the fight, overlooking the grounds the recruits were receiving instruction in spear-wielding on.

“So, which ones are they?” he asked again, keeping his expression placid at Hakim’s scowl. Jafar’s suspicion that someone – and he was pretty sure it was the man currently standing beside him – had been going to great lengths to prevent his discovering the identity of the boys had solidified when Hakim had refused his initial inquiries, but he wasn’t deterred.

“The recruits are _my_ responsibility, Royal Vizier.”

The same words and warning tone as the first time Jafar had asked, but the addition of his official rank were a clearly drawn line in the sand – while Hakim could understand the impulse of wanting to teach the boys a lesson, the Captain of the Guard would not tolerate his authority being undermined – he would handle the situation, _not_ the Royal Vizier.

Not that there was really anything he could _do_ to stop Jafar, if said Royal Vizier decided to get serious, but the professional relationship between Agrabah’s Royal Vizier and Captain of the Guards was not a bridge Jafar thought highly of burning.

_Anbay and Haukim willing, we will both retain these positions for many years yet, and I’ve no wish to spend them looking over my shoulder for a literal sword in my back. There are plenty of others who would be ahead of him, anyway._

That didn’t, of course, meant he felt the need to actually apologize, but he inclined his head in a subtle gesture of acknowledgement. Iago shifted uneasily on his shoulder at the tension rising from the two men, but retained enough sense to stay quiet.

Appeased, Hakim released his grip on his sword hilt and turned his attention back to the recruits, his actions allowing the two soldiers standing guard on the balcony to relax as well. Not that either of them could have heard what the conversation between the two officials had been about, but they were well-trained men and had come to alert on seeing their Captain tense.

All of this the Royal Vizier had intuited without turning around, but the easing of the itch between his shoulders blades was a fine enough barometer.

_Not that they would have given me much trouble, but I know how much work it takes to make just one of them, and I don’t want to listen to the complaining that would happen were I to turn them into lizards._

The need to keep the situation from officially reaching the Sultan’s ears was wearing, but the unspoken agreement between all those who _did_ know meant Jafar had been limited to asking people vaguely-worded questions that bore nothing in the way of useful answers, and the question now had really only been asked due to his own frustration at being stonewalled by the Captain.

That it did double-duty by hopefully making Hakim think he was dropping the subject after being so firmly warned off was only to be expected.

Shifting tactics, he commented ever so idly a few minutes later, “The recruits are coming along rather nicely. Perhaps a tournament would be in order?”

A tournament would allow him the opportunity to see how Aladdin interacted with the rest of the recruits, and might allow him to winnow out who the rest of the boy’s assailants had been. He’d have to do some work with the boy to improve his skills, but there was no point in moving pieces until the board was set up.

“We just had one at the wedding,” Hakim pointed out, his tone still gruff with residual anger.

Jafar shook his head, casually reaching up to give Iago a scratch. “You mean the one I believe _you_ referred to as a ‘military dog and camel show’? I’m referring to a _training_ tournament. Organize the recruits into one-on-one bouts – or even with multiple opponents – between themselves and their seniors and invite those at Court to watch…” he trailed off suggestively.

Hakim narrowed his eyes, but given that the expression in them was thoughtful and not angry, Jafar figured he’d successfully distracted the other man from the Royal Vizier’s _real_ purpose in proposing the tournament.

“It _has_ been a while,” the Captain mused thoughtfully, the shrewd glint in his eyes suggesting that perhaps the Royal Vizier had not been quite as subtle as he’d hoped,“– and we have had quite an influx of recruits recently…I don’t suppose I could convince _you_ to give a demonstration…?”

He trailed off, clearly uncomfortable, and Jafar couldn’t keep an eyebrow from winging up in surprise.

“Am I correct in assuming you are talking about a demonstration of the Arts?”

The grimace that crossed the guard’s face was nothing new – it was the same expression he wore every time Jafar’s arcane abilities came up – but he surprised the Royal Vizier again by nodding, albeit reluctantly.

“Those too; but I was thinking more of a demonstration with one of those heathen horses of yours.”

The smirk that lifted the corners of Jafar’s lips was more than a little smug. The Andalusian courser stallion he’d purchased during his travels in his youth had helped him establish a stable of selectively bred animals that were famed for their swiftness and stamina; but what Hakim had referred to was the unique movements the Andalusians were famed for teaching their horses.

The smugness dropped from his expression as his agile mind wondered _why_ Hakim – no, this was a suggestion from the Captain of the Guards – would want the Royal Vizier, who was mostly a non-military government official – to put on such a martial performance.

Jafar had learned in his long political career that there were _politics_ – the day-to-day intrigues that kept the Court and the Palace running – and then there were _Politics_ – the long-term, with far-reaching consequences-type manoeuvring that typically took place at the very top with Agrabah’s allies or enemies; and this suggestion reeked of the latter.

_But why? Our allies are content, our enemies quiet, and my agents have not heard anything that would suggest –_

The string of multi-language curses Jafar let slip as he suddenly understood made Hakim smile in grim understanding.

The Royal Vizier usually never swore – he firmly believed such language was the mark of a weak mind – but the rapidly expanded scope of consequences that presented itself had set a match to his half-formed plans of how to deal with Aladdin’s attackers.

As part of long-standing peace treaties, the Sultans of Ghanistan and Afghanistan had each sent a younger son to become wards of the Sultan of Agrabah; clearly, said boys had been involved in – machinated? – the altercation with Aladdin.

It would have been one thing if Aladdin’s assailants had all been of the local Court – the situation would have been handled privately, away from public scrutiny.

Something that was not an option now – would in fact be the absolute worst way to go about it, and Jafar congratulated himself on holding back on his initial impulses.

No wonder Hakim had refused to say anything! It was very unlikely that they would have gone unheard before, but here, on this terrace, the risk of eavesdroppers was much lower; though not eliminated, hence the oblique and vague conversation.

 _But now it isn’t a matter of_ if _this gets back to our allies, but_ when; _if it hasn’t already. And what our allies know, our enemies will know soon afterwards. Spread a rumour that the consort for the future Sultan is weak…._

It was times like this that Jafar was sorely tempted to take over Agrabah himself and wipe the lot of their so-called allies off the map. He rubbed his forehead, his turban feeling a hundred times heavier as the true scope of the political ramifications made itself known.

No wonder his suggestion of a training tournament had been so well received! It would be a chance to show off Agrabah’s military might as a not-so-subtle reminder of who their enemies – and their allies – would deal with on a field of battle. And by having a non-martial government official – who was also, coincidentally, the father of the rumoured weak prince – put on a martial display….

_Not to mention it will give Aladdin a very public venue to face and defeat his opponents._

A small nod let Hakim know his message had been received, and the other man let out a pleased grunt and let some of the tension bleed from his frame.

“You are coming for dinner this evening, of course?”

Well used to them, Jafar didn’t even blink at the rapid redirect. “You make it sound as if I had a choice,” was his response, earning a quick bark of laughter from his compatriot.

“The illusion of one, I suppose,” the Captain agreed, obnoxiously cheerful all of a sudden. “But you of all people should know that some illusions have teeth. In this case, Dahlia’s been chewing _my_ ears over what she sees as _your_ short-comings, and I have most graciously decided to allow you the chance to experience it first-hand.”

_Wonderful._

“Aladdin – and Abu and that damned Carpet, of course – have already promised to join us this evening. As has Iago, I may point out.”

Jafar’s “Oh?” was dark enough Iago decided discretion was the better part of valour and quickly winged to Hakim’s far shoulder.

“It was under _duress_ I tell you!” came the plaintive yelp from behind the relative safety of the guard’s helmet.

 _I just bet it was,_ the Royal Vizier thought sourly, as the Captain chuckled and mimed holding sweets. Jafar sighed and capitulated (mostly) gracefully.

“I suppose I will see you this evening then, Captain.”

He itched to wipe the victorious smirk from the other man’s face, which must have shown in _his_ expression, as Hakim immediately made to leave.

“Then if you will excuse me, Royal Vizier, I have a tournament to propose to the Sultan.”

Jafar couldn’t help but roll his eyes as the Captain left, a visible bounce in his step causing Iago to hold his wings partially spread for balance.

But the Royal Vizier had already wasted enough time this morning. A quick judgement of the sun’s position told him he had enough time to return to his study and take care of at least a few things before _he_ needed to report to the Sultan. 

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	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chaturanga – ancient board game of Indian origin that is believed to be an ancestor of chess (among other, similar games)

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Suppers at the Acar household were always a novel experience for Jafar, in more ways than one. Another change that could be laid squarely at Aladdin’s feet, his attendance at them had come about when rumours had reached Jafar’s ears that whispered suspicions about why the long-lost son of the Royal Vizier was spending so much time with the Captain of the Guards instead of his _actual_ father.

And so, at least once every few weeks Jafar found himself sitting at a table that came uncomfortably close to reminding him of his own formative years, for all that the environment in which it was placed was a marked improvement.

He’d suggested inviting the Captain and his family to either his quarters or the Prince’s for these dinners instead, but Aladdin had been strangely reluctant.

It was also novel in that every time he deigned to attend one, Lian and Omar had stories of at least one new escapade that only increased his doubt that the two would ever survive childhood.

This time apparently his own familiar was the nefarious ringleader – and given how Dahlia kept looking at the parrot as if she’d rather _he_ was the one plucked and cooked and cooling in the middle of the table, Jafar had to believe it.

Making a mental note to speak with the parrot later, Jafar did his best to calm some of Dahlia’s ire.

“This tabbouleh is delicious Dahlia, is it a new recipe?”

The sharp look she flicked at him said she was aware of what he was trying to do, but the woman took a deep breath and visibly collected herself.

“It’s my mother’s recipe, actually. She’ll be coming for a visit next week –“

(She and Jafar ignored Hakim’s sudden coughing fit as he inhaled his black beer.)

“– and as it’s her favourite I thought I’d try making it again.”

“Your mother’s coming? Here?” croaked Hakim, and correctly interpreting the sudden snap in his wife’s dark eyes immediately tried to backpedal, without success.

Abu and Iago, both so round Jafar was sure they would need to be carried home, chortled wickedly at the man’s discomfort from the comfort of a nearby pillow, while Carpet put its tassels together in a manner that indicated it was doing the same, earning all of them a glare from Hakim.

“It’s too bad you won’t have time to visit,” Jafar commented idly, running his finger around the rim of his own cup. “Given how busy you’ll be with the tournament.”

_Especially as Hamed has decided to turn it into an event all on its own._

It wasn’t that he was interested in helping Hakim out of the pitfall he’d dug himself into, of course, but it wouldn’t hurt to have the Captain of the Guard owe him a favour either.

“Tournament?” Dahlia repeated, expression brightening. “The Sultan said yes then?”

“He did,” Hakim confirmed, relief at the switch in topic visible. “He even suggested inviting some of the Bedouin tribesmen to take part. He’s set up pretty tempting prizes for winners of the Buzkashi games, so I imagine we’ll have plenty of interested applicants. Though given how vicious the veterans get, the games will be restricted to professionals only.”

Aladdin frowned as he cleaned his bowl, handing it to Dahlia for a refill with a hopeful expression. “But how are new players going to improve if they aren’t allowed to take part?”

“Don’t know why you’d want to improve,” Iago shook his head and fluffed his feathers. “Such a barbaric game…”

Shooting a slightly less dark look at the parrot, Dahlia turned her attention back to Aladdin as she heaped another serving of chicken casserole with couscous into his bowl. “That is not the Sultan’s concern,” she said firmly, setting his food down. “This tournament will serve as a reminder of Agrabah’s strength – without having to resort to outright fighting.”

The pointedness of her tone caused Aladdin to wince and duck his head abashedly as he dug into his food. Dahlia gave the boy’s bowed head a quelling look before turning it on Jafar, but whatever was coming was interrupted by the children.

“Did you really get in a fight, Ali?”

Aladdin’s face was a proud canvas of colours, making it inevitable that he would be asked about it. Though it had been surprising that the children had waited this long to ask; in Jafar’s admittedly limited experience, young children didn’t wait when they had questions.

_Or perhaps not so surprising, given how obviously they are avoiding looking at their mother._

“Just a little one,” Aladdin mumbled into his bowl, causing both men to snort derisively. The glare that earned them from the boy had as much effect as a pebble thrown at boulders.

“Why?”

Watching the boy squirm, Jafar mentally revised his opinion on children; he’d never before had reason to consider them as potential interrogation tools.

_And yet they seem to be surprisingly effective._

“Because they were saying…not nice things about…people, and not acting…nicely,” Aladdin hedged lamely.

Jafar scowled. Since day one, the one lesson he’d tried to drill into the boy’s head over and over was that _words were weapons_. Not only that the right word or phrase could take down an enemy, but that an incorrect word or phrase could _make_ an enemy. But most importantly, to _ignore_ words that were deliberately spoken to inflame.

_Another lesson he seems to have failed._

“But fighting people who say mean things is _not_ what we should do,” Dahlia said firmly as she began to clear dishes from the table. “What we _should_ do is ask them politely to stop; if they won’t, then we need to tell an adult about it, and _they_ will handle the situation.”

The pointed, faintly accusatory look she sent Jafar was enough to get his hackles up again. Obviously, Dahlia felt he’d been remiss in his parenting duties, though he couldn’t understand how. Aladdin hadn’t been forthcoming about the issue even when pressed, and Jafar wasn’t going to sit there and _coddle_ the boy.

“Or _be_ the adult in the situation,” was Iago’s dry contribution, causing the children to laugh at the exaggerated face Aladdin made in response.

“Well, I’m sure _your father_ has things well in hand,” was Dahlia’s – once again pointed – contribution.

_Blasted female._

It was obvious the woman was upset with him – the constant insinuations were a rather large giveaway, if aggravatingly obtuse. Why she couldn’t just say whatever she wanted to address outright he couldn’t understand.

_Like being pecked to death by a sparrow._

“His _chaturanga_ pieces usually are,” Aladdin muttered into his cup, voice soft enough Jafar was sure he hadn’t intended anyone to hear the surprising comment.

Startled, Jafar managed to keep his expression pleasant as his agile mind turned over the revelation.

The Royal Vizier was well aware that many of his contemporaries viewed their offspring more as means to a better end for _themselves_ rather than as their own individual persons, but he had never considered himself among their ilk; apparently his son thought otherwise. 

_And where did that thought come from, I wonder?_

His musings were interrupted by the children asking to be excused and practically hauling Aladdin, Abu and the rug away to play something called Forty Thieves (Iago, now feigning sleep, was not asked), leaving him to Dahlia’s supposedly tender mercies as Hakim made a hasty excuse and left before Jafar could collect his bearings.

Ordinarily, Hakim leaving his wife alone with the Royal Vizier would _not_ have happened, and Jafar went instantly on guard as he realized the Captain had done so to remove himself from the figurative line of fire.

The mass exodus woke Iago from his fake snooze, and Jafar immediately fixed him with a look that promised dire retribution if the bird didn’t keep his beak shut before summoning up his most forbidding expression, an effort largely wasted as the woman didn’t look up from the cup of tea she was now pensively stirring.

“I hope you will forgive me if I overstep, Royal Vizier –“

_If?_

“– but it’s clear the Prince has been unhappy for a while, which has made the Princess unhappy, and….”

She sighed and Jafar couldn’t contain his grimace, the tension seeping from his frame as he reluctantly conceded that perhaps it wasn’t only _his_ life the young royals were making miserable.

“I don’t suppose _you’d_ have any idea….?”

Oh it _galled_ him to have to admit it, but Jafar hadn’t been able to come up with any solid ideas. He’d suspected that the change in Aladdin’s attitude had been due to others constantly holding his low origins against him, and that the fight was the culmination of that, but he couldn’t get a sand-blasted answer out of the boy! Not to mention that he also had no idea about whether or not the antagonizing had been carried out _specifically_ to provoke a fight.

Though tonight’s little slip had shed a little more light on the situation, Aladdin’s continued insistence on being aggravatingly vague on the actual details had been frustrating to no end.

 _I suppose it doesn’t really matter_ exactly _what all was said_ _, in the grand scheme of things, so long as Aladdin comes out ahead in the tournament._

Shaking his head, he focussed back on Dahlia, who only reluctantly met his gaze. The hesitation he now saw on her face irritated him. The woman hadn’t had any trouble tossing barbs his way all evening, but now that he’d given her permission – outright _asked_ her – to tell him what was wrong, she hesitated!

_I’ll understand how to create humans from clay and air before I’ll understand the female mind!_

Dahlia took a deep breath, clearly bracing herself before letting it all out in a rush, “While I certainly understand – and thank you for! – your reasons for…what you did, I am…not sure that you fully grasp the entirety of what it means to be a _parent_.”

At least she had enough intelligence to be vague about the situation, given that the walls could very well have ears, but it was a small comfort.

His first instinct was to argue, but given that he _had_ asked he couldn’t very well take her head off for answering him!

_Even if her answer is more of that sentimental claptrap that has nothing to do with the situation!_

Why could no one see that? Despite knowing it was all essentially a sham, for some reason they all expected him to act like – like the Sultan did towards the Princess!

Grappling with his temper, Iago’s not entirely muffled snickers nearly set the flame to the tinder.

“And _I_ am certain that none of you can – or are refusing to! – grasp the _reality_ of the situation!” he got out through gritted teeth, before taking a deep breath.

“ _I am not_ –“ Jafar cut himself off before he could finish with _Aladdin’s father_ , and taking another deep breath leaned forward, his voice a low, angry hiss.

“I have claimed the boy as mine due to circumstances. _Nothing. More_! Why you continue to insist –“

Shocking the Vizier, Dahlia leaned forward as well, her voice as nasty a hiss as his. “Because thinking that way has been working out _so well_ so far, hasn’t it? Tell me, Jafar, why have you begun to join us for these suppers?”

“You know very well why,” he snapped back, “– the rumours –“

“Were just that! Had you continued to ignore them, or ignored them and made more of an effort to have Aladdin by your side, they would have died away! By coming here, you’ve confirmed that you’ve not only heard the rumours, but that they needed correcting in the first place, which makes people even _more_ certain that there may be a grain of truth to them!”

Jafar bit back a curse that would have turned the air black as her truth hit home. In his peripheral vision, he could see Iago attempting to melt into his cushion. He wasn’t sure what he marveled at more – that this woman had the audacity to treat the Royal Vizier so familiarly, or himself for allowing it.

“But there’s no point in chasing that caravan now,” Dahlia said with a huff, sitting back in her seat. “I understand your reasoning, Royal Vizier –“ sarcasm practically dripped off the words, “ – but has it occurred to you that perhaps by putting in at least a _little_ more effort, the problem may very well solve itself?”

_Doubtful, as it’s clear you and I do not seem to agree on what the problem even is._

Jafar nearly bit his tongue keeping the words behind his teeth. Now that he’d unlocked her ire, the last thing he wanted to do was fuel it.

Clearly Dahlia viewed the entire situation as a _parenting_ problem on Jafar’s end, whereas the Royal Vizier considered it an _attitude_ problem on Aladdin’s. It was also clear that pointing that out would lead to an even more in-depth lecture then the one he was already suffering through.

No, better to keep her focused on what she thought she knew.

He settled for a cool, “How so?”

“Have you ever told Aladdin that you’re proud of him?”

“Why would I ever need to do that?”

The pained expression that crossed her face made Jafar want to hex something. He only barely managed to refrain from summoning his staff as Dahlia pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing.

“Despite what you may think, I _do_ understand that you are not actually Aladdin’s – well…However, _that is the role_ _you have,_ and for better or worse – “ and her expression made abundantly clear which option _she_ thought it was, “ – Aladdin looks to you as a role model. And while he does look to Hakim and the Sultan as well, he’s still trying to emulate _you_ the most – just as any son would.”

Jafar couldn’t entirely stop the full-body shock that jerked him at her words. Truthfully, he’d given little thought to _how_ Aladdin had been navigating his set of new circumstances; he’d been more concerned over the end results. The thought that Aladdin had been looking to _him_ as an example…!

_Well, I suppose desperate times do call for desperate measures._

Dahlia either didn’t notice his response or was choosing to ignore it, as she continued without pause.

“But you haven’t been acknowledging that at all; that made him try harder initially, I think, but now he thinks that nothing he does will be good enough and he’s stopped trying. Having Jasmine in the mix makes it even more complicated for him, because by giving up on all this he’s at risk of losing her –“

Dahlia held up a hand to stop the protest she clearly thought Jafar was going to give, “– which isn’t the biggest issue, overall, but it is the biggest issue _to him; w_ hich makes him lash out more, because he sees it as being _your_ fault that he’s at risk of losing his most important person in the world. _”_

“That is _preposterous_ –“ Jafar snarled, only to cut himself off as his mind ran over all the events of the past several months from this audacious viewpoint.

He practically choked when he came to a rather unpalatable conclusion.

Could it really be that simple?

“Children aren’t really that complicated,” Dahlia said softly, in an eerie echo of his thoughts. “Giving them the basics of food, shelter, and clothing is enough to let them survive, and a good education is useful to help them thrive; but if you want them to live the best, most fulfilling life they can, you need to take care of their emotional well-being as well. Do you think Jasmine would be the woman she is now if the Sultan had ignored her and left her to the care of the harem?”

Jafar neatly side-stepped _that_ particular landmine. “And I suppose you have a way to rectify the situation?”

The words were like shards of glass being pried from his throat, the acrid burn of humiliation that he – the Royal Vizier and a powerful sorcerer – was reduced to asking for advice from a _maid_ of all people –!

“First of all, I would recommend you stop thinking of Aladdin as your son.”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

Both he and Iago spoke in unison, but Jafar was too shocked to shush the bird. That was _not_ what he had expected in the slightest!

_First she’s upset that I wasn’t treating the boy like a son, but now she’s telling me to do exactly that!_

Darting a quick glance at Iago, Dahlia returned her gaze to Jafar as she nodded, expression surprisingly reluctant.

“I think both of you aren’t comfortable with the father-son dynamic because you barely know who the other person is as a _person._ Get to know each other outside of those roles, and maybe you’ll be able to find some common ground to build off of.

“Secondly, Aladdin tells me all his tutors report to you on his progress, but take the time to ask _him_ how he’s doing. A flower blooms better with direct care and attention, and the same goes for children.”

Well past his acceptable limits for dealing with _emotions and feelings_ , Jafar managed a cordial nod even though all he wanted to do now was pretend he’d never heard the phrase **“Seek thee out the diamond in the rough.”**

The moment was interrupted by Lian running into the dining area and wailing, “Mother! Omar isn’t letting me play with him and Aladdin!”

“Welp, I think that’s our cue, eh Jafar?”

For once, the Royal Vizier was in total agreement with his familiar. “I…thank you for your assistance, Dahlia.”

Sure, the words were rather reluctantly spoken, but he _had_ asked and she _had_ tried to help.

“You are welcome, Royal Vizier,” Dahlia managed over her daughter’s – rather theatrical, in Jafar’s opinion – sniffling.

Collecting Aladdin from a protesting Omar who fell silent upon the sudden apparition of both fathers, both Vizier and Prince made their way from the Acar household.

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Walking in silence as they made their way through the Palace, Iago used the opportunity to whisper quietly in Jafar’s ear while Aladdin was distracted by Abu and the rug flying around him in lazy circles.

“Hey boss, maybe you could start now with the kid? I wanna be around to see the look on his face when he realizes you’re being _nice_ to him.”

Not in the mood for his familiar’s particular brand of humour, Jafar hissed back, “Keep it up and I’ll ship you off to a Bedouin tribe that worships Sa’d!”

“Alright, alright, _sheesh._ Don’t get your turban in a knot. Er, a bigger knot.”

Jafar kept walking a few more paces, only belatedly noticing that he now walked alone. Turning back, he found the other three had stopped to stare – well, Aladdin had, Jafar hadn’t the faintest idea about the rug or the monkey – contemplatively at the courtyard where he had made his grand entrance as Prince Ali.

He waited impatiently for the boy to catch up, only to raise an eyebrow in question when Aladdin instead merely turned to look at him, expression uncommonly grave.

“Will the Sultan really kill me if I don’t…measure up?”

Jafar started to answer and then paused, choosing his words carefully as the rug twisted itself into anxious knots.

“Our Sultan is not one for idle threats,” he replied quietly, noting as he drew close how white the knuckles on the fist Aladdin had rested on the windowsill were. “And while he would give his daughter the world if she but asked for it...he would not do so at Agrabah’s expense. If what becomes best for Agrabah is to have you removed….”

He held out a hand in mute suggestion before continuing.

“And while neither Hakim or I have directly informed him of the current situation, do not be fooled into thinking he is unaware of it. If we don’t resolve the issue and mend your relationship with the Princess –“

“We?”

There was no sarcasm or mockery in the boy’s voice now, just timid hope.

_…he really is just a boy, isn’t he?_

Jafar had been skeptical – to say the least – about the revelation that Aladdin considered him someone to look up to out of respect instead of fear, but it would seem Dahlia had been correct.

_Not that I’ll ever tell her. The woman is too smug by half as it is._

“Yes, _we_ ,” Jafar repeated, as gently as he could. He turned and resumed walking, Aladdin hesitating only a moment before jogging to catch up, Abu now curled comfortingly around his neck. “I can admire the fact that you wish to resolve the issue on your own, no matter that I don’t agree with the way you want to do it. _However_ , speaking as the Royal Vizier to the current as well as the future Sultan –“

“Wait, as well as? What if we choose someone else?”

A lame attempt at humour, and while Jafar wasn’t sure what expression he had on his face, he was reassured it was the correct one as Aladdin visibly quailed.

“Joking! I’m joking! Of course you’ll still be the Royal Vizier…”

Iago snickered as the boy tried to recover, but Jafar had no patience for his verbal back-peddling.

“ _As I was saying_ , the current situation needs to be handled in a very delicate manner; one that will not only make those whom we are concerned about think twice about coming after you again, but to also reassure our citizens that you will be an able protector for not only their future Sultan, but for them.”

A thoughtful silence fell at that, one that lasted all the way to Jafar’s study, which, surprisingly, Aladdin had followed him to.

“I…can understand that,” he finally admitted, brow knitted in confusion as he dropped Abu onto the pillow the insufferable monkey had claimed. “But what other skills could a Royal Vizier have that would help my…situation? We’re past the point of being able to undo the damage by just talking it out, and using your authority will just make it worse. If we had the genie –”

“Oh?”

Jafar kept his back turned as he helped Iago onto his perch, but could practically hear Aladdin clamp his teeth together at his unintentional slip – there were very few circumstances, after all, where having your father be the second most powerful man in the kingdom was a bad thing; after a heartbeat he decided to let it pass.

_I believe the fact that I already know who his assailants are is one I’ll keep to myself._

“ _We_ don’t have the genie; _I_ do. And I am not going to waste its powers –“

“His.”

“Excuse me?”

“His powers,” Aladdin clarified, looking stubborn, and after a beat Jafar decided to let that battle pass.

“I am not going to waste _his_ powers on something such as this. Besides, the sands of power shift quickly in a storm, my boy. And I realize it may come as a surprise to you, but I haven’t always been the Royal Vizier,” said Royal Vizier continued mildly.

Apparently it did, if the boy’s expression was any indication. Jafar repressed the urge to sigh as he settled behind his desk.

“I would like to most humbly inform you that my skillset is substantially broader than just being able to ‘talk things out.’ Which is rather important; as in times of war, the Royal Vizier is usually the one responsible for leading the army in the field, once talking things out – the word you’re looking for is _diplomacy_ , by the way – has failed.”

_And I suppose we need to add History to the list of lessons he hasn’t been paying attention to._

“Have you ever had to lead the army?”

“A few times,” Jafar admitted, “–though truthfully both instances were more…displays of force than actual fighting.”

“Not that you would have done any of the actual fighting if there had been any, would you?” Aladdin rebutted, showing that perhaps he hadn’t been slacking on his History as much as Jafar had feared.

“You’d be the person laying out the plans and –“ he stopped, an arrested look spreading across his face as he halted midway through sitting down.

“…you’re the one who suggested the tournament, aren’t you?”

_There’s that intelligence that seemed to be so lacking recently!_

“I am,” Jafar confirmed. “It will give you a _very_ public – as well as fully sanctioned – platform on which to face – and defeat – those boys.”

Aladdin snorted as he finished flopping into a chair. “Defeat them? While we’ve all been training with the same instructors since becoming recruits, they’ve been training for _years_ with other teachers. So they not only have more experience than I do, but they’ve been exposed to other styles of fighting as well,” he pointed out. “All of which means I am _still_ at a severe disadvantage even just facing them one-on-one. If I even get _that_ much, given how gleeful the Captain has been acting.”

Jafar let the comment about Hakim pass without response, hand falling to thoughtfully stroke the hilt of the _janbiya_ – the dagger gifted to males on their fourteenth birthdays – that he wore tucked against his side.

“Fair points, but not unchangeable ones.”

“Oh?”

Aladdin thrust his chin out in challenge as Jafar leaned forward, deciding now was as good a time as any to try one of Dahlia’s suggestions.

“First off, the fact that you have come so far in as few months as you have had is…rather satisfying.”

Perhaps a little lackluster as far as compliments went, but it was a start.

The boy exchanged a shocked looked with Abu, expression shifting to wary as he gazed back at Jafar.

“…Really?”

Jafar nodded, leaning back and steepling his fingers. “You pick things up quickly, are reasonably intelligent, or so I’m told – “

“Hey!”

“– you have fast reflexes, and you’re good at thinking on your feet – most times,” he added, unable to keep the dry humour from his tone.

Aladdin made a face but didn’t interrupt again.

“You have a solid grasp on the basics of everything you’ve been taught in regards to martial skills; but as you’ve rightly pointed out, it is not only less than they have, but you haven’t yet developed a fighting style of your own. It puts you at another disadvantage in that your assailants know essentially every move you can make, and therefore will be able to react accordingly.”

“I thought you were supposed to be helping me.”

Jafar ignored the half-hearted complaint and pressed on.

“So what we have to do in the three weeks we have before the tournament is develop your style. If they can’t predict what you’re going to do, you will have the edge.”

_Barely enough of one to qualify as an edge, but every little bit will help._

“It might not be enough,” Aladdin pointed out glumly, causing the rug to drape itself consolingly onto his shoulder while Abu patted his thigh commiseratingly.

“It will have to be,” Jafar replied simply.

“Now, traditional paths for noble sons are hiring other instructors, or having you live with the Bedouin for a few years, neither of which is possible for the Prince of Agrabah – the latter due to the time constraint and safety concerns, and the former because it will be difficult if not impossible to keep word of it from leaking out. Instead –”

“What did your father have you do?”

Once again, Aladdin’s ability to focus on the wrong thing reared its head, and Jafar couldn’t stop himself from shooting the boy an exasperated scowl.

 _He’s clearly forgotten our conversation at the Cave of Wonders, but let’s not draw his attention to the lapse, shall we?_

“My father had nothing to do with my education,” was all he said in response. “But we aren’t talking about me, we’re talking about _you_.”

But Aladdin wasn’t to be so easily dissuaded. “Why didn’t he? From what I can tell, nobles only see sons as _chaturanga_ pieces to move about to better benefit themselves –“ given his statement at supper, Jafar wasn’t surprised at how bitter the words were, studying Aladdin thoughtfully as the boy finished with,

“– which is a lot easier to do if the son is a properly-educated and well-trained puppet.”

The glare he leveled on the Royal Vizier afterwards cemented Jafar’s assumption that his son considered him of the same ilk.

_Ah. And so it all becomes clear._

He suppressed a pang of…something…as he mentally acknowledged the truth in the boy’s words. It wasn’t how the situation actually _was_ , but he could now understand how it would appear that way to Aladdin.

The fundamental issue – as it so often was – was a difference in viewpoints; Jafar had seen his efforts to train and educate Aladdin as a way to make the boy worthy of the position he’d landed in; while Aladdin had seen it as Jafar trying to turn him into a more valuable game piece to further _Jafar’s_ own position.

“You seem to be overlooking some _very_ important details, my son.”

“Oh?”

It was rather amazing how the boy could sound challenging and yet manage to sulk at the same time, and Jafar felt the leash on his temper slip ever so slightly at the blatant disrespect.

He leaned forward, hands splayed out across his desk to keep from summoning his staff, deliberately not looking at the large garnet that adorned the ring on his left index finger.

“I am the _Royal Vizier to the Sultan of Agrabah_ , the largest kingdom of the Eight Desert Kingdoms; meaning I am the second most powerful man _in the Middle East_. I am _also_ one of the most powerful sorcerers in the known world. My son is going to be the Prince Consort to the next Sultan, meaning – as far as anyone else knows – my bloodline will be part of a dynasty stretching back a thousand years, and stretching on for a thousand years more, Allah willing; how, exactly, would turning you into a ‘properly-educated and well-trained puppet’ make me _any_ more powerful?”

Clearly ready with a hot retort, Aladdin checked himself, blinked, and shut his mouth with an audible click.

Jafar leaned back in his seat, satisfied by the pole-axed expression on his son’s face that the boy _finally_ understood.

“You are being trained and educated as demandingly as you have been to help _you_ in your new position, not me. If I was truly after more power, I would have no need for you. I’d have simply married the Princess myself.”

Not that _that_ had ever been a serious consideration, but maybe it would drive home –

Given the looks – and sounds – of absolute horror coming from across his desk he’d been successful, though Jafar wasn’t sure if he should be insulted or amused.

Clearly bored with the conversation, Iago let out a cawing laugh as he hopped onto the desk from his perch. Making his way to the bowl of fruit on the far corner of it (and managing to walk across the majority of the paperwork, the dratted bird), he delicately selected a plump grape.

“Not bad for a couple of street rats, hey?”

Aladdin blinked, shuddered, and managed to pull his brain together enough to look confused now, and even Abu and Carpet looked interested.

Jafar ground his teeth. It wasn’t that he was necessarily _hiding_ the details of his past from Aladdin, it was just that he…didn’t feel the need to tell the boy all of them either.

_I should have left Iago in his cage at that bazaar, squawking “Polly want a cracker!” Why did I ever think it would be a good idea to have a parrot as a familiar?_

“Iago –“

“A couple of – but you’re a nobleman, right? I mean, only a nobleman could become the Royal Vizier….” Aladdin trailed off as Jafar remained silent, the Royal Vizier resigned to dealing with yet _another_ off-topic tangent.

“You’re – _not_ noble?!”

Aladdin slapped his hands on the Vizier’s desk, causing Abu to shriek in surprise and Iago to reflexively jerk away and nearly slide off the desk, squawking.

“But you said the Sultan of Shirobad was your half-brother!”

Now _he remembers!_

Jafar scowled and waited for the clamour to die down before answering.

“I did. And he is. However, Mirza is the _legitimate_ offspring of the previous Sultan. W – _I_ am a bastard child, as my mother was merely a lowly washerwoman – as I have mentioned before, _if_ you’d care to recall –“ still not the entire truth, but old habits die hard, “ –and not part of the Sultan’s harem.”

He shrugged, the years having worn away the prick of that particular thorn and hoping Aladdin hadn’t caught his near slip.

“However, this knowledge is _not_ to leave this room, do you understand?”

“Oh. Yes. Yes I – I understand.”

Aladdin sank back into his chair, expression stunned once more.

“And _that_ is why my father had nothing to do with my education. However, I did eventually live and train with the Bedouin; I joined them when I was nine – though when I grew older I traveled extensively.”

Iago, who clearly didn’t think he’d stuck his beak in it enough for today, took the opportunity to quip “Like to prison,” as he settled his tail feathers.

_“Prison?!”_

Despite a fresh wave of exasperation, Jafar couldn’t help a crooked grin at the incredulous look this new bit of information prompted on the boy’s face, despite the fact that they were straying ever farther from the conversation they actually _needed_ to have. He almost felt sorry for Aladdin; there was practically smoke coming from his ears as he tried to keep up with all the revelations.

The boy’s jaw worked soundlessly for a few moments before he managed to blurt out, “For _what_?”

“Banditry,” the vizier tossed off nonchalantly, sure that if the boy’s eyes grew any wider, they’d fall right out of his skull.

“And they didn’t just kill you outright for it?”

Jafar chuckled and reached for the first report in the closest stack. “I was young, it was my first offense, and there were … extenuating factors. I was jailed for life instead, only I decided to leave once I had accomplished what I wanted.”

“Accomplished what – never mind, of course you did,” Aladdin muttered, passing a hand over his face.

He nabbed an apple from the platter on the desk, then a second one when Abu let out a pitiful whine. Sprawling more comfortably into his seat the two settled down to enjoy the fruit, Aladdin still shaking his head disbelievingly as the rug settled back onto the floor.

“Of course I did?”

Reluctantly curious, Jafar set down his paperwork and regarded the boy across from him with a pointed frown that caused Aladdin to sigh and shift to a proper sitting position.

“You’re not what I expected a Royal Vizier to be like,” he admitted, crunching into his apple.

“Good. I’d hate to think I was predictable.”

Aladdin rolled his eyes and flopped back in his seat, and Jafar didn’t bother correcting his posture again as he forced the conversation back to the actual topic at hand.

“Now, aside from focusing on refining your martial skills and developing your own style for the tournament, we also need to work on your patience, cool-headedness, and ability to see and plan farther then the next oasis – in a manner of speaking.”

Aladdin tilted his head questioningly as he polished off his apple.

“And how exactly are _we_ –“ the emphasis on the plural was not lost on Jafar, though he didn’t give the boy the satisfaction of reacting, “–going to accomplish all that if we can’t risk bringing in other instructors?”

“I will teach you,” Jafar said simply.

Abu actually dropped the piece of apple he’d been holding, and the rug shot to the ceiling in surprise.

“You?”

Skepticism and shock practically dripped from Aladdin’s words as his eyebrows made a bid to fly off his face.

“Yes.”

“ _Really.”_

The blatant disbelief was rather insulting, and Iago’s snicker merely fanned his irritation, but Jafar gritted his teeth. Recent revelations aside, since declaring Aladdin his son the Royal Vizier had essentially tossed him to tutors for all of his training and schooling, so the boy’s reaction wasn’t completely unexpected.

 _I hate to admit it, but Dahlia may have had a point about the tutors. After all, the master craftsman is one who creates his masterpieces with his_ own _hands._

“Yes,” Jafar repeated calmly. He cast another critical gaze as Aladdin leaned forward, suspicion still warring with disbelief.

“I haven’t seen you even _look_ at a sword since I showed up, and yet you’re going to show me how to use one? And then there’s archery and wrestling and riding…”

Jafar cut short the recitation. “Have you ever thought about _why_ I spend so much time and effort emphasizing my arcane abilities?”

Looking thoughtful Aladdin leaned his chin on his hand, Abu blessedly silent on his shoulder as the rug drifted down to prop itself up on one tassel in apparent interest.

“I just figured it was because you liked making people afraid of you,” he admitted candidly, and Jafar couldn’t help a rusty laugh.

“There is that,” he allowed with a murmur, leveling an appraising glance on the boy.

“Mostly, however, it is because _all warfare is based on deception_. If our enemies – and our allies – think of me as nothing but a government official with fancy party tricks –“ a small grin played on his lips at Aladdin’s snort, “– well then, they’re going to focus on _that_ ; instead of wondering what _else_ I may be capable of. Place these in the basket with the yellow ribbon.”

The boy shifted to grab the indicated paperwork, brain finally – thankfully – working behind his expressive brown eyes.

“So when do we start?”

A satisfied smile spread across the Royal Vizier’s face as he stood, calling his staff to hand as he did so.

“Oh, I think now’s as good a time as any, wouldn’t you say?”

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buzkashi – literally “goat-pulling.” Look it up if you aren’t squeamish; some creative licence taken with regards to time of origin, haha.


	5. Chapter 5

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Watching Aladdin limp off to get cleaned up a few hours later, Jafar waited until he was sure the boy was gone before doubling over and bracing his hands on his thighs.

He’d refused to allow either of the animals or any of the furnishings to watch the session, and now he was glad of it. The last thing the Royal Vizier needed was to give Iago fresh fodder for inopportune wisecracks.

He and Aladdin had focused solely on sword work tonight, using one of the rooms with a sand floor typically used to teach wrestling in order to increase the difficulty.

_By the sun and sand–!_

Though the Royal Vizier had considered himself to be in decent physical condition, the evening’s lesson had hammered home the realization that perhaps he wasn’t exactly as young as he used to be.

“Feeling our age, are we?”

Jafar groaned again as he straightened up, though for a different reason this time. He rested his hands on his hips as he glared in response to the smug expression of the Captain of the Guards, concentrating on regulating his breathing.

“As if _you_ wouldn’t be,” the Royal Vizier snapped without heat – and without much justification, as the Captain was nearly a good fifteen years younger – as he carefully made his way out of the sand. It irritated him that he wasn’t sure just when exactly the other man had shown up.

 _You were sloppy_ , a voice in the back of his mind hissed warningly. _Sloppy means dead._

Hakim gave a one-shouldered shrug, as he was using the other to prop up the doorframe. “Perhaps, but perhaps not; unlike some people, _I_ don’t spend all day behind a desk.”

Jafar fleetingly considered giving Hakim a little magical jolt as payback, but dismissed the idea as exhaustion continued to drag at his limbs.

Briefly debating the merits of getting fully dressed again versus the likelihood of running into anyone in the halls in his decidedly un-Royal Vizier-like appearance, he sighed and began to slowly redress.

 _Damn my pride,_ he thought self-deprecatingly, wincing as his weight shifted as he dressed.

An old injury to his left leg was complaining rather loudly, and he needed to deal with it to minimize the limp he was going to sport tomorrow regardless.

He ignored the snort from the door as he replaced his cape and turban, and leaning rather heavily on his staff once he finished dressing, Jafar raised an eyebrow pointedly as he approached the door and the Captain moved to block his exit.

Hakim didn’t blink, the look he leveled on the slightly taller man only serving to fan Jafar’s temper as he recognized it as one the Captain routinely used on misbehaving subordinates.

“Is there a problem, Captain?” the Royal Vizier let exhaustion sharpen his tone and straighten his posture, ignoring the multitude of aches and pains that erupted at the movement.

Hakim’s tone was no less pointed, gaze on Jafar even as his attention was clearly directed to something else. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Frowning, Jafar turned to look behind him, confusion giving way to exasperation as his gaze registered what the Captain meant.

He turned back to Hakim even as he waved his staff insolently, the susurrating of the scattered sand as it slid neatly back into the pit bringing to mind a nest of snakes.

Muttering under his breath about magic and manual labour building character, Hakim nonetheless moved aside, falling into step. “Boy was moving pretty good there, at the end. You, not so much.”

So he _had_ been watching for a while then, but while Jafar could excuse not seeing the man due to exhaustion nearer the end of the spar, there was _no_ way Hakim had been in the doorway that long. A side-long glance told him he’d get no answer to that particular question, so he didn’t bother asking.

“He was,” he admitted instead, ignoring the jibe and unable to keep a small thread of pride from winding its way through his words.

“You worried about him going off half-cocked at all?”

Jafar grimaced as his irritated sigh pulled at the strained muscles on the right side of his chest.

“Of course,” he breathed shallowly, “which is why I threatened to turn him into a female capuchin if he did. And then demonstrated.”

“You –“ Hakim actually came to a stop in the middle of the fortunately empty corridor, regarding the Royal Vizier with disbelief – and no little amount of fear, a soothing balm to Jafar’s pricked ego.

“You _really_ turned him into a monkey? A _female_ monkey?”

The Captain’s reaction didn’t seem faked, so at least the Royal Vizier could comfort himself that he hadn’t missed seeing the other man the _entire_ evening.

Jafar kept moving, briefly debating the merits of truth versus lie. “Of course not,” he eventually scoffed lightly. “I only made him _think_ he’d been turned into one.”

Hakim looked startled, then threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing off the deserted corridors.

Chuckles fading as they walked, the Captain cleared his throat and speared the Grand Vizier with a pointed look as they came to a stop outside Jafar’s quarters. “May I be blunt, Vizier?”

“You’ve never needed permission before,” was the bland response as Jafar subtly tensed, sensing the serious turn of the conversation.

“Why are you training the boy, Jafar?”

Thrown by the absurdness of the question, the Royal Vizier could only stare. The dropping of titles indicated the conversation was going to be one of those personal ones that he despised and Hakim had begun to force on him ever since claiming Aladdin as his own.

_Abgal lend me strength._

“You… _do…_ remember the circumstances?” Jafar answered slowly, irritated that he was unable to intuit what Hakim wanted him to say and concerned for the man’s apparently failing memory; for all that the Captain favoured brawns over brains, he was regarding the vizier with an expression as inscrutable as the Great Sphinx’s.

Hakim held up a hand. “Yes, I understand _why_ it is necessary that Aladdin improve his martial skills – what I’m asking is why _you_ are the one teaching the boy. You’ve let tutors handle everything else since the beginning.”

Jafar tamped down his irritation. “I _have_ attempted to train the boy before, but he doesn’t have any aptitude for the Arts –“ he broke off and scowled at Hakim’s fervent “Thank Allah.”

He decided it wasn’t worth the energy to address the attitude.

“Because I can’t trust anyone else to do it,” he continued flatly. “Not and keep their mouth shut – oh I could ensure that part, absolutely,” he added, answering the question Hakim hadn’t yet asked. “But it would be obvious that I had, which would put Aladdin’s opponents on their guard.

“In addition, all of them have had every advantage as a product of birth; however aside from the two, ah, ringleaders, the others have trained mostly with Agrabahnian Bedouin tribes and will likely find it very difficult to adapt to Aladdin’s expanded repertoire.”

Jafar didn’t bother to dampen the predatory edge of the smile that stretched across his face.

“As for the other two, well, I’m sure they’ll have difficulties of their own.”

(He could only hope, given his estimation of the fighting styles the two princes were likely to have been exposed to.)

Hakim made a non-committal sound, prompting Jafar to raise an inquisitive eyebrow. It was obvious the Captain found something lacking in his response, but the Royal Vizier couldn’t imagine what it was.

“There is more to parenting then merely ensuring your child is physically looked after,” he said finally, in an aggravating echo of his wife before clapping a hand on Jafar’s shoulder. “Their happiness needs to be considered as well.”

He took his leave before Jafar could tell him happiness had nothing to do with survival, and that if Aladdin remained unhappy, it would be due to his own attitude and nothing the Royal Vizier was or wasn’t doing.

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	6. Chapter 6

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To the Royal Vizier’s steadily mounting aggravation, Hakim’s words continued to niggle at him for days – a distraction he didn’t need, given that he was kept busy ensuring the proper delegation of responsibilities for the tournament on top of his regular duties.

They echoed even louder in his ears as he joined Aladdin for one of their training sessions late one night, just over two weeks before the tournament, after an already exhausting day dealing with the other viziers who apparently couldn’t do more than breathe without explicit instructions.

Fortunately, part of tonight’s session was rather less serious, where distraction only risked sore fingers and a broken egg.

Though traditionally a children’s’ game, _Bayd_ had been chosen by the Captain as one of the few officially approved ways to allow recruits to let off steam between the serious matches of the tournament. Hakim was no fool, and though the Captain and his men would be watching carefully, he knew better than to give hot-blooded youths copious amounts of down-time with nothing to occupy themselves with but a festival. The addition of small prizes would hopefully sweeten the attraction.

The game had two opponents face off against each other, each cradling a hard-boiled egg in one hand. The objective of the game was to crack your opponent’s egg first, the light balsam switches used as ‘weapons’ minimizing the risk of serious injury. Supposedly, one learned how to defend, how to take advantage of an opponent’s weakness, and how to trick an opponent into leaving an opening.

Thus, Jafar and Aladdin warily circled each other in the large receiving room just off the throne room, all entrances spelled against spying – with Aladdin’s guards an additional precaution as they guarded the doors – as they faced off. Jafar had ignored Aladdin’s puzzled “Here?” when he’d seen where they were training that evening – understandable, given the location – as the room had a particular accoutrement he deemed necessary to help Aladdin improve in the _actual_ skill of the evening.

Truthfully, the Royal Vizier considered the entire enterprise of improving in _Bayd_ a colossal waste of time, but he wasn’t in the habit of doing things halfway – he had set out to ensure Aladdin would have every advantage against his opponents, and that was exactly what he was going to do.

They’d already gone several rounds – Jafar winning all of them, though the boy had certainly put up an impressive opposition – when Aladdin dropped out of his ready stance with an aggravated sigh.

“I feel ridiculous,” Aladdin blurted out, shoulders tensing as he awaited his father’s response. His tone was half challenge and half whine, but Jafar couldn’t fault him for it.

You _feel ridiculous? Think about how_ I _feel!_

Jafar sighed, “I understand, but –“

“Oh come on!” Aladdin burst out, “It’s a _children’s game_! It doesn’t matter if I win at this or not, it’s the tournament that’s important. Besides, it’s not like you want to do this either.”

He stopped, clearly shocked at his own audacity, and Jafar inhaled, ready to lecture the boy on doing things halfway and how everything they did was important, only to lose it in a gusty exhale.

Hakim’s words returned to echo tauntingly in his ears, as did Dahlia’s. As his son, Aladdin’s filial duty was to do everything his father told him to; however as an equal….

“True enough,” Jafar admittedly ruefully, causing the boy to blink in astonishment.

After a beat, as if waiting to see if the vizier was joking, Aladdin recovered and held his egg aloft, solemnly intoning, “In that case, with health and well-being,” before giving a tentative smile and peeling the shell.

Huffing a laugh, Jafar followed suit, though he remained standing as Aladdin flopped to sit on the floor. Once he’d ensured his egg had been picked clean of any speck of shell, he gracefully lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the cool tile flooring, as if it had been his intention all along.

Aladdin’s look told him the boy wasn’t buying it, but at some point he’d clearly developed enough self-preservation to not push the issue. His bruises had healed to the point where they were easily covered by cosmetics, though he’d washed them off before they’d begun to practice.

It is doubtful had anyone managed to stumble into the room that they would have recognized either of them. Both were wearing the loose-fitting pants and the snugger-fitting short tunic of the military –though Aladdin’s were tan-coloured and Jafar’s black – and neither wore any indicator of rank, though Jafar had, for personal reasons, left his rings on.

Jafar felt uncomfortably naked without his high-quality clothing to mark him as the Royal Vizier, as if by removing the indicators of his rank he was revealing the truth about his carefully hidden origins, but the noticeable way Aladdin seemed to relax whenever he did so was food for later thought.

“So,” Aladdin interrupted his internal musings, having quickly finished off his egg, “– now what?”

Deliberately not answering until he’d swallowed his last bite, Jafar bestowed a smile on Aladdin that had his son instinctively moving out of arm’s range.

“You didn’t truly think that _Bayd_ was all we were going to work on tonight, did you?”

The answer was blatantly broadcast in Aladdin’s expression.

_Naïve little prince._

Rising to his feet, Jafar fought to contain a grimace as joints began to mutter about age and uncomfortable positions. “We’re going to work on your boxing skills.”

A rather barbaric sport, in Jafar’s opinion, but it had long been the soldier’s claim that boxing helped prepare them for the blows they faced on the battlefield, and Jafar had never been particularly inclined to argue the case.

The tournament fights were going to be more exhibition matches than anything, with fighters competing to put on the best show during five timed rounds.

“But isn’t boxing just….hitting people? I don’t need training to know how to do _that_.”

Aladdin got to his feet slowly, obviously not enthused about the prospect.

_Yes, because you made out so well the last time you needed to ‘hit people.’_

Jafar swallowed the words, not needing to hear Dahlia’s and Hakims lecturing voices to know such a statement would not improve the situation.

“For most men, perhaps; but as I said we were going to work on your boxing _skills_ , that must not be the case for _all_ men.”

Aladdin made a face but dutifully followed Jafar to where the vizier had placed a basket of supplies earlier, from which he pulled out long leather thongs after they had disposed of their egg shells.

“These are thinner than the ones I normally use,” Aladdin observed, frowning as he noticed the loop stitched onto one end, “and the loop is too small for me to get my fingers through.”

“That’s because they’re meant to be wrapped differently, and the loop is only meant for your thumb. Now pay attention.”

Taking the strip, Jafar slid the loop over Aladdin’s right thumb, drawing the thong across the back of his hand before looping it three times around his wrist. Bringing the thong up a fourth time, Jafar instead crossed it over the back of Aladdin’s hand to wrap around the side, bringing it up across the top of the palm to wrap the knuckles three times. He continued by bringing the thong up and around the thumb and then across the wrist, and then looping it from the base of the wrist up between the last two fingers of Aladdin’s hand, repeating the process between each finger before finishing up by wrapping the knuckles thrice more and finishing the remainder of the thong around the boy’s wrist.

“That feels…different. But more solid.”

“I am so glad you approve; now, do your left.”

Under Jafar’s sharp gaze, Aladdin smoothly completed the wrapping on his other hand, looking inordinately pleased as he flexed them both, and Jafar set him to warming up before he turned to his own.

The somewhat hypnotic act of wrapping his hands – as well as the remembrance of how he’d come to learn of the thumb-loop – threatened to bring forth memories Jafar had no interest in ever revisiting, so he finished as quickly as possible.

Flexing his fingers to accustom them to the feel of the leather, he turned to find Aladdin with a rather peculiar look on his face.

“Yes?”

The boy opened his mouth, seemed to think again, and closed it as he shook his head.

“No, never mind. It’s – I’m warmed up now, what did you want me to do?”

Dismissing the boy’s odd behaviour, Jafar mentally rehearsed what he wanted to cover in the evening’s session, indicating for the boy to stand beside him as they faced the reason the vizier had chosen this particular room for the evening.

A large silver mirror – faithfully polished every day – placed at the back of the room so that whoever was receiving guests would be able to see their reflection lording over those who had come before them. Wide enough for three men to stand abreast, the ruinously expensive item had been part of the wedding dowry of the late Sultana.

“The mirror?”

“Yes. Now, show me your guard. See where your fists are held in your reflection?”

Serious now, the boy studied the mirror. “They’re just in front of my chin.”

“Exactly.”

Fast as a striking cobra Jafar punched, just hard enough to knock the boy’s hands against his face.

“Hey –!”

“Your guard was up but you weren’t ready,” Jafar rebuked, “That’s why it’s called _being on guard_. Fists up.”

Aladdin reset, frowning slightly. This time Jafar punched a little harder. The boy was ready, but still his fists hit his chin.

“Ow! I thought you said we weren’t going to be boxing!”

Pivoting away, Jafar ignored the complaint and sunk into his ready stance as he faced the mirror. “Hold your hands up like this,” he instructed instead, waiting for the boy to finish glowering and copy him.

“Now, keep your left hand level with your chin, but move it out; give it some space so that when you take a hit or block a blow it won’t knock back into your face. Keep your right closer to your chin, that’s it.”

As he continued to coach, Jafar reined in his exasperation as the boy struggled with watching his reflection and continuously mixing up which arm to use.

_We’ve got a long way to go._

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	7. Chapter 7

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Two mornings later Jafar paused a moment on his way to the Sultan – ostensibly to admire the view of the sunrise over the harbour, were anyone to ask – to surreptitiously rest his bad leg when the Captain strolled up.

“Surprised to see you up and about so early after the nights you’ve been having.”

The Royal Vizier couldn’t keep from stiffening reflexively as Hakim’s voice registered, but he refused to be baited. Admitting weakness was not something he made a habit of, but he had to admit to giving serious consideration to reducing the frequency of the sparring lessons with Aladdin.

 _But we don’t have near enough time_ _to find someone else I’d trust to teach him._

The tournament was just under two weeks away now, and his duties continued to pile up so that the only time he could carve out to work with Aladdin was late at night, and he hadn’t changed his habit of rising early. In addition to all that, he’d been attempting to work out a suitable display for the feast that was to kick-off the tournament proper. And then on top of _that_ he was also trying to come up with an equestrian routine that would have the proper impact.

The long, hectic days and short nights had slowly been sharpening the edge of the Royal Vizier’s temper, as had the persistent, nagging sense he had that there was _something_ in the wind.

Jafar couldn’t even say when it had started or find the words to describe what it was – there was just this feeling of premonition every time he felt a breeze brush along his skin, and it was slowly starting to drive him insane.

Needless to say, he was even less in the mood to joke around than ever. 

_If he’s stopping just to make another age joke and I swear I’ll turn him into a camel._

“I could say the same to you, Captain,” Jafar responded, tone overly pleasant. “Tell me, how _is_ your mother-in-law doing?”

He permitted himself a small smirk at the scowl that instantly shadowed the other man’s face.

“Laugh while you can, Vizier. The Sultan’s dropped an occasional comment about finding someone for _you_ , you know.”

“The Sultan has been making ‘occasional comments’ for over twenty years,” was the dismissive response. “I hardly feel I have anything to be concerned about.”

 _In that regards anyway,_ Jafar thought with a sigh. Aladdin was progressing surprisingly well in _most_ of their sessions.

The ones in which he wasn’t, well, they still had time.

“Mm hmm,” Hakim responded noncommittally, studying the vizier intensely.

“But you’ve been concerned about _something_ lately. How are the training sessions coming along?”

On his shoulder, Iago let out a rude noise. “Yeah, like _he’s_ gonna tell anyone!”

The parrot’s feathers had gotten ruffled since the ban on allowing _specific_ animals – and sentient furniture – into the training sessions had been upheld, after an archery session had nearly resulted in Iago getting turned into a target.

Tired of the argument that had been happening on and off for days, Jafar snapped, “Are you that eager to become a pincushion? I thought you had better sense than that, Iago.”

“But I want to watch the kid getting his butt kicked!” the parrot sulked, scuffing his foot on the vizier’s shoulder like a small boy kicking at dirt.

“It is something to watch,” Hakim agreed affably, lips twitching ever so slightly. “I must admit it was not something I ever expected to see, given your master’s consistent insistence on emphasizing his _obvious_ abilities.”

Jafar permitted himself a small smile at Hakim’s blatant dig, Iago quitting his complaining long enough to quote in Jafar’s voice, “I carry out my own secret designs, keeping my antagonists in awe.”

The pained expression that flashed across the Captain’s face caused the Royal Vizier to chuckle.

Of course, then the dratted creature had to spoil the moment by tacking on “ _Duh,_ ” in Aladdin’s voice.

Now it was the Captain’s turn to laugh, while Jafar pretended momentary deafness.

One of the other viziers chose that moment to come barrelling up to them, expression frantic.

“The Bedouin are brawling in the northeastern courtyard!” he blurted out. Jafar and Hakim sighed in unison.

“I _knew_ it was a mistake to allow them to set up camp so early,” Hakim groaned as he tugged on his beard.

Now it was Jafar’s turn to slap a commiserating hand on the Captain’s shoulder as the man began cursing up a storm.

“Work hard, Captain!”

With a growled curse – or perhaps just a growl – Hakim began to stride off, shouting for the guards and barking orders to those that began to flock towards him, the other vizier practically treading on his heels as he followed the Captain.

Feeling oddly better about things, Jafar continued on to report to the Sultan.

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	8. Chapter 8

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Due to time constraints, many of the training sessions tended to cover multiple skills to improve upon, though ideally Jafar would have preferred to keep the boy focussed on one thing at a time. And though Aladdin’s progress varied depending on his given level for a particular skill, he _was_ improving, much to the vizier’s quiet satisfaction.

As this evening’s session focussed on Aladdin’s archery skills – standing and mounted – they met at an outdoor training area, Jafar having quietly ensured that anyone approaching said area found themselves with the sudden impulse to be elsewhere. The only others in the courtyard with them were the guards permanently assigned to guard the Prince, and servants who’d brought them their horses; upon all of whom Jafar had _subtly_ reinforced the need for discretion.

And while not personally inclined to favour the martial arts, Jafar would admit to a slight preference for archery. The bow was a weapon that required more than mere strength and muscle memory to wield well; and not everyone could handle integrating all the factors one needed to be aware of in order to ensure the arrow went where it was supposed to. 

Both seated astride their respective horses, Jafar watched with a critical eye as Aladdin set off on another run.

His seat still wasn’t the greatest, but given how skittish the boy had initially been around horses, he’d come quite far in the intervening months, and especially in the last few weeks.

Tonight the three mounted archery targets were set up in a large, rough circle at differing heights; the object of the exercise was to ride around them as fast as the rider could handle and hit them as accurately as possible.

Points would be awarded for how well the recruit rode, their accuracy, and how fast they completed the exercise.

“Your accuracy is improving,” was his comment when Aladdin rode up after his latest attempt. And it was; not only had the boy been rather consistent in just hitting the targets, but his marks had been steadily creeping closer to the bulls-eye every practice, despite the exhaustion he must surely be feeling after having done dismounted archery just beforehand.

A relief given how he’d been acting the entire week – Jafar had been getting the impression that there was something Aladdin wanted to say to him, but the boy hadn’t been able to work up the nerve, and his apparent inability to put the issue aside had led to a rather poor showing until the Royal Vizier had torn a strip off him and he’d settled down and focused.

Jafar wasn’t sure which irritated him more – the fact that Aladdin was shooting nearly as well as _he_ did, or the fact that he was irritated about Aladdin shooting nearly as well as he did. 

_It isn’t as if I’ve needed to keep up these skills, but_ ….

If there was one thing he could admit to – privately, at least – it was that he was possessed of, perhaps, just the slightest bit of a competitive nature.

However, since competing with Aladdin would not benefit anyone, he redirected that part of his nature into ensuring that his son would not being shown up by anyone.

Which was why he added, “Now run it again; from the opposite direction.”

Aladdin groaned but obeyed, and Jafar was pleased to see that the boy’s accuracy increased yet again. The fact that he could accomplish such a feat in the torch-lit training yard – even though well-lit, it couldn’t compare to full day light – was reassuring. The days were rapidly slipping away, and he needed to push Aladdin to the limits of his abilities _._

As the boy rode back up, Jafar was taken slightly aback by the beaming grin Aladdin graced him with.

It was odd the way the boy seemed to relax more in his presence the more time the two of them spent together, and the Royal Vizier hoped it didn’t mean the boy was getting complacent.

_There’s too much riding on this for him to let his guard down._

“You still aren’t handling your reins properly when you switch directions,” he snapped as the boy cantered back. “Watch carefully.”

Jafar demonstrated swiftly, running the targets first in one direction and then the other.

He sent the boy back around a handful more times, which was clearly all the gelding Aladdin was riding could tolerate.

Not wanting to risk something so precious to him – or risk Aladdin getting hurt – and thinking of the pile of paperwork stacked threateningly high on his desk, Jafar reluctantly decided to call it a night.

“Naji! Take the horses. Laziz, gather the arrows.” Swinging down, he gestured for Aladdin to do the same as he tried to ignore the pull of exhaustion at his limbs and the throbbing ache in his leg. “That will be enough for tonight, eh Bahadur?”

Letting out a snort his stallion lipped affectionately at his sleeve, closing dark eyes in approval when Jafar scratched underneath an itchy cheek-strap before Naji coaxed the horse away.

He should try and get out more – Bahadur was rather particular about who he let handle him, and if Jafar waited too long between rides the stallion was perfectly capable of letting his displeasure be known. Loudly, and oftentimes accompanied by property – and sometimes personnel – damage. Jafar had started working out a routine with him, but there just didn’t seem to be enough _time._

 _Fortunately, he is well-trained. Not to mention easier_ to _train than some others I could mention._

Aladdin cleared his throat, breaking into Jafar’s stray musings.

“You’ve – “

He broke off, biting his lower lip.

“Yes?”

Jafar barely managed to refrain from rolling his eyes as he waited yet _again_ for Aladdin to find his tongue, the boy fiddling with his bow until Laziz came to collect it.

“You’ve had him a long time, haven’t you?” Aladdin finally managed to blurt out, gaze flicking from Jafar to the direction the horses had gone and back.

Jafar suspected it wasn’t the intended question, but after a beat decided to indulge the boy’s curiosity.

“I have. Over ten years, in fact.”

Retrieving his staff, the two men began to move off, Aladdin’s guards falling in line as they all made their way back into the palace.

Aladdin looked thoughtful. “That’s quite old for a horse, isn’t it?”

“He’s getting there,” Jafar responded dryly.

 _Nor is he the only one_ , he thought with a mental grimace as his left leg throbbed, making him lean more heavily on his staff as he walked.

“Did you get him before you got Iago?”

Jafar shook his head, privately wondering about this sudden interest. “No I’ve had Iago, oh, just over forty years now.”

Aladdin was so shocked he stopped walking. _“Forty years?!_ You can’t be serious! How long do parrots live, anyway? Wait, how old are _you?"_

He eyed the Royal Vizier’s turban as if only now understanding the grey he had previously seen in the man’s neatly bound hair.

 _How did that new passage go? May Allah bless the parents who trained their children to behave justly with them?_ Jafar thought sardonically.

Reassured that he could still keep the boy off-balance, an unsubtle nudge with the end of his staff got Aladdin moving again.

“I am quite serious. I believe I was around twelve or so when I, ah, _acquired_ him –“ let the boy figure out the math on that one, “ – and though he was fully grown already, as my familiar, his lifespan is now tied to my own so he will live as long as I do.”

Shock piled on incredulity on Aladdin’s face. “Wait – did you just say you _stole_ Iago?”

“I did.”

Jafar’s lips twitched in remembrance of how the old trader had squawked like his recently liberated merchandise when he’d registered the theft.

“From who? And why? Could he already talk when you did?”

“When who did what?”

With his inimitable timing, Iago swooped into the corridor, doing a couple of lazy laps around the guards before choosing to alight on top of Jafar’s staff.

A twitch of said staff convinced him to hop onto Aladdin’s eagerly offered forearm; if there was one thing Jafar hated more than having to buff out talon scratches from his staff it was listening to the sound of them being made.

They continued walking, Aladdin eagerly redirecting his attention to the scarlet macaw. “Is it true that Jafar stole you? And that you’re over _forty?”_

Iago bobbed his head before sidling further up the boy’s arm until he was comfortably situated on his shoulder.

“Look young for my age, don’t I? Yeah it’s true, parrot’s honour.”

Jafar rolled his eyes but kept silent.

Aladdin couldn’t seem to make up his mind who he wanted to question. “Why did you steal him? And where from? I’ve never seen another bird like you around here.”

“Kid, there ain’t another bird like me _anywhere._ ”

“Thank all the gods,” was Jafar’s dry contribution, neatly sidestepping the first couple questions.

“You mean you’re the last of your kind?”

Iago laughed so hard he nearly fell, having to flap his wings to keep his balance; and dig his talons in too, going by the wince on Aladdin’s face.

Sighing, Jafar answered instead. “No, although you would be hard-pressed to find too many more of his feathered kin around here. His kind lives half the world away; I found him in a market in western Mauretania.”

“Mauretania? Where is that? What was it like –“

“Hey! We weren’t finished talking about me!”

Both men rolled their eyes at the complaint, but Aladdin gave in good-naturedly. Jafar was curious to see how the bird would describe the wretched circumstances.

“Alright Iago. So how did a bird from half the world away end up in western Mauretania?”

Iago’s – grossly exaggerated – tale of woe lasted until they came to the cross-corridor where the men would part ways to their respective quarters.

“Uh huh,” Aladdin smirked as Iago finished explaining how he’d rescued Jafar from a thirty foot long desert cobra the first time they’d met.

“How did it _actually_ go?”

Iago grumbled in a put-upon manner until Aladdin began to scratch the itchy spot beneath his beak.

Jafar hesitated as they paused, the guards standing a respectful distance away. A lifetime of caution warned him against letting slip any more details about his past, but moved by an impulse he didn’t understand he said, “My…teacher felt it was time I gained myself a familiar, and I thought a bird would be a prudent choice. I believe the trader who had him was hoping he’d be bought for a noble’s pet, but given that at that point Iago had developed a vocabulary as colourful as his feathers, well...”

“I tell ya, I got no respect at all. They said I was unsuitable to live in polite society! Me! Can you believe that?”

“Yes,” Aladdin grinned, and Jafar rolled his eyes.

“A situation that has not improved upon being gifted with human intelligence, as you can tell.”

Iago cocked one beady little eye at Jafar. “I still don’t get any respect,” he grumbled pityingly, causing Aladdin to snort in disbelief.

“Can’t _imagine_ why that would be. Did you really attack one of the flamingoes today?”

The Royal Vizier hadn’t heard about _that._

“It wasn’t me! It was my twin brother Othello! And for future reference, I’m as innocent as the day I was hatched!”

No doubt there would be a complaint from the Keeper of the Menagerie somewhere on his overloaded desk about the incident, and Jafar mentally groaned.

_Why me?_

He was too tired for this – it had been a long week of long days and nights, and he had still more ahead; letting an edge of temper into his voice, he growled, _“Iago.”_

The macaw sulked. “ _Fine._ Pinky had it comin’ okay? He was actin’ like a jerk.”

“How was he – no, never mind.”

He really _was_ tired if he was actually asking for details about one of Iago’s misadventures, and he raised a hand before Aladdin could ask instead.

“That will be all, Aladdin. Good night. Come, Iago, before you get into any _more_ trouble.”

Aladdin chuckled as Iago hopped from his shoulder to Jafar’s, sighing mournfully.

“It’s been nice knowin’ ya, Al.”

Jafar didn’t bother hiding his scowl over the bird’s theatrics.

“Good night Iago! You still wanna join Jasmine and I for lunch tomorrow?”

Theatrics abandoned, Iago let out an excited squawk. “You gonna have pomegranates?”

Aladdin grinned, reaching over for a final head scratch. “I think we can manage that.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow, punk!”

He laughed and turned to go, only to hesitate.

Exhausted and dreading the work still looming ahead of him, Jafar’s “Yes?” was a little sharper then he’d intended. 

“Good night, father.”

It wasn’t anything Aladdin hadn’t said before, and yet…the boy almost sounded like he _meant_ it.

“Good night, Aladdin.”

As they parted ways, Jafar tried to ignore the feeling that there was a sandstorm gathering on the horizon.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mauretania – old Latin name for the region that used to stretch from central present-day Algeria all the way west to the Atlantic, encompassing (what is now) northern Morocco, and stretching southward to the Atlas mountains.


	9. Chapter 9

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The tournament continued to creep ever closer, the days blurring into each other with the feel of sand slipping through an hourglass.

Aladdin continued to make steady improvements in most areas – bar one.

“How many times must I tell you: you can’t grab him like that!”

Watching from the sidelines, Jafar prowled back and forth like a leopard, sharp gaze tracking every movement from the two combatants.

For some reason, Aladdin just couldn’t seem to remember what was and what wasn’t allowed in wrestling.

Jafar hadn’t even attempted to be his sparring partner, reluctantly trading off secrecy to instead rotate his younger guards into the position while the Royal Vizier tried to coach.

They had all been exceedingly patient with the entire enterprise, though Jafar privately thought that part of his guards’ stoicism with inappropriate grabs and flying limbs may have had to do with the fact that they were essentially getting permission to kick a nobleman’s ass under the guise of teaching.

Unfortunately, tonight’s session didn’t seem to be accomplishing much beyond raising everyone’s blood pressure – though that had started even _before_ training had begun. For some unknown reason, Jasmine had decided to sit in on tonight’s session – and she’d brought Rajah with her.

It was one thing to be trouncing the Prince when it was said Prince’s father ordering it so, but to do so in front of the Princess and a tiger that could kill a man with a casual swat if said Princess became upset over the manhandling of her husband had put a bit of a damper on the entire experience.

After the eleventh occurrence of an illegal move Jafar decided to call it a night. And although the thought of quitting while there was still time aggravated him, he reluctantly conceded that the sessions needed to come to a close anyway.

The tournament was only five days away, and Aladdin needed to be able to rest up as much as possible, given that he’d been spending increasing amounts of time with the Sultan and Jasmine as they mingled with all the notable worthies that had crammed themselves into the Palace.

_There’s no use trying to force-learn anything else at this point. The rest will be up to him._

“That’s enough, Taimoor. You can let him up now.”

Taimoor couldn’t entirely hide his disappointment at having the session cut short, but he didn’t hesitate in releasing the Prince from the pin he had him in.

Aladdin flopped face down with a groan, and Jafar wasn’t sure if it was out of relief, aggravation, or resignation. Rajah padded over to nudge the boy with his muzzle, letting out a questioning _mrrp_ that always sounded odd coming from a beast of that size.

Rolling onto his back, Aladdin spoke to the room at large. “I think we’re going to have to accept wrestling as a loss.”

_Resignation it is then._

Not that Jafar could argue with the boy.

“Not a loss,” Jasmine corrected fondly as she came to stand over her husband, the long black rope of her hair sliding over her shoulder to dangle above him. “Merely….an area to improve in. At a later time.”

“Agreed,” Jafar sighed, waving Taimoor back to his duties as Aladdin hopped up with the enviable ease of the young, dusting sand off his training clothes.

Giving Jasmine a quick kiss and Rajah a brief head scratch, Aladdin grabbed the broom to sweep up the spilled sand without being told, and Jafar watched him thoughtfully.

Despite the utter failure to improve in this particular skill, it had been satisfying in an unexpected way to watch the Prince improve elsewhere and know that it had been due to _his_ teachings.

And though Jafar didn’t think how he’d been treating the boy had changed at all, there had been a very clear drop in the level of antagonism between them as the sessions continued and he settled more into a “master and apprentice” mindset rather then a “father and son” one.

Catching his father watching, Aladdin cracked a smirk, an odd sense of comradeship flowing between them. “I suppose I shouldn’t be good at everything, anyway; at least, not yet.”

The answering smile that spread across Jafar’s face felt more than a little unnatural, but he didn’t fight it.

“Yes, you’ll have plenty of time to improve on getting pinned gracefully.”

Jasmine laughed and Aladdin made a face in response, and then he brightened and changed the subject, shooing Rajah away when the tiger took a playful nibble at the broom. “Did Lieutenant Saalim show you my report on suggested security changes for the Palace?”

Lieutenant Saalim was the Prince’s tutor for military tactics and strategies, and while the assignment itself wasn’t terribly unusual, the fact that it had been given to someone of Aladdin’s criminal background – which the Lieutenant, of necessity, knew nothing about – was supremely ironic.

_Said irony very likely being the major contributing factor to the boy’s glee over the entire situation._

“In a manner of speaking,” Jafar growled, fighting hard to keep his expression disapproving.

Unfortunately, the flustered Lieutenant had chosen to show the report to Hakim first, which had brought the Captain of the Guards roaring into the Royal Vizier’s study at an ungodly late hour the previous night.

(Half-asleep, the Royal Vizier had reflexively bound the man against the nearest wall, which had done _wonders_ for the Captain’s overall disposition.)

Going by Jasmine’s carefully pursed lips and sudden interest in Rajah’s ears, the Princess had also been privy to said report.

“Did you have a chance to read it? What did you think?”

_What do I think? I think I would have been better off grabbing the lamp and leaving you to your fate in the Cave of Wonders, that’s what I think._

The thought was a half-hearted one, leaning more towards fond exasperation instead of the expected aggravation in a way Jafar found rather unnerving when he considered it.

“I think you not only stepped on Hakim’s tail, you decided it would be a good idea to yank on it and then tie it into a knot. What were you _thinking_?”

The report itself _was_ rather well-thought out and detailed – however some of the language used was very, very familiar; as Hakim had rather accusingly pointed out.

Honestly, Jafar wasn’t sure which had made the Captain angrier – how the report was written, or how some of the conclusions that had been reached in the report would not have been possible without the author carrying out some…practical exercises.

Practical exercises such that the guards _should_ have intercepted them as they occurred; given Hakim’s reaction, it was obvious that that hadn’t been the case.

(And the Royal Vizier wasn’t sure if the Captain had picked up on it, but upon reading the report – combined with the lately suspiciously well-behaved fur, feather, and fabric contingent that tended to follow Aladdin everywhere he went – he strongly suspected the former street rat hadn’t been alone in his escapades.)

The patently fake expression of hurt that flashed across Aladdin’s face – in combination with Jasmine hiding a laugh in a sudden cough – made the Royal Vizier’s eyes narrow.

“You didn’t like it? But I referenced some of the arguments you made against Vizier Rashid’s proposal to downsize Agrabah’s military.”

“I noticed,” was the withering response. “Or rather, it was forcibly brought to my attention by a rather aggravated Captain who thought the entire report had been _my_ idea.”

 _Not to mention who also had the gall to insinuate that perhaps_ I _had also been leaping about rooftops! At my age!_

Jafar grimaced in memory.

“I still cannot conjecture what _unfathomable_ reasons would have made Lieutenant Saalim decide to show the report to Hakim first.”

“Hakim _is_ his Captain,” Aladdin pointed out, brown eyes wide in faux innocence.

Jafar ignored the veracity of the statement to glare at his wayward offspring. “And I suppose it never crossed your mind that, given the subject matter of this particular report, perhaps I should have been made aware about said report’s existence _before_ you turned it in to the Lieutenant?”

Aladdin’s expression turned sheepish. “Uh, well, not really? I just thought it was another one of his hypothetical situation practice essays, I didn’t think he’d actually _show_ it to anyone.”

“It _was_ rather well written,” Jasmine murmured casually, evidently wholly concerned with ensuring Rajah’s stripes were _just so_ , even as she slanted her gaze upwards at the Royal Vizier.

Though the thought was begrudging, Jafar had to privately agree; and once Hakim had gotten over the perceived assault to his professional pride he’d immediately set about figuring out the logistics of implementing some of the solutions Aladdin had come up with.

However, mindful of the fact that too much praise could be just as detrimental to a person as too little, Jafar kept that particular development to himself.

Drawing himself up to his full height, the Royal Vizier levelled his most forbidding expression on the boy as he said, “The next time you feel the urge to provoke a tiger – metaphorically speaking,” he added, exasperated, at Rajah’s questioning _mrrow?_ , “– perhaps you might ever so graciously deign to consider that it will not be just upon _you_ whom the consequences of said action will fall.”

Aladdin hunched his shoulders with an awkward laugh as Jasmine hid a giggle behind her hand. “Uh, yeah, I’ll uh, I’ll remember that.”

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	10. Chapter 10

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The evening before the tournament, Jafar eyed himself critically in the water mirror he conjured as his servants dressed him. His new outfit was made of the finest materials, and he was very pleased with how everything had turned out.

His robes were the blackest the dyers could make, embroidered in black in a scale pattern that only became apparent at certain angles, though the thread glimmered faintly to Jafar’s Sight due to the protection spells he’d seeped said thread in before giving it to the seamstresses.

The cape was made of the same black material, though the protection spells in it had been wrought as gold runes embroidered all along the hem – meaningless symbols to those uneducated in the Arts.

The blood-red lining of said cape matched the red sash he wore around his waist, the gold tie wrapped overtop highlighting the feathers picked out in gold on said sash and drawing attention to his _janbiya,_ the dagger gleaming from a fresh polish.

As the feast was ostensibly a diplomatic event, the Royal Vizier had forgone his usual half-plate armour, and instead attached his new cape to an ancient golden torque. He had stumbled across it while still a young man, the shifting sands of his travels having uncovered the remains of an ancient battlefield. The unexpected discovery had offered up more than the torque, including two of the rings he habitually wore and other antiquities he had managed to turn a profit on.

At the time, Jafar had had no compunctions about taking the items – the dead certainly had no further need of them, and the realization that the torque was not only a magical repository but that the centrepieces bore embossed cobra heads felt like a sign that he had been meant to find it.

The item itself was two pieces, the halves connected by hidden latches behind the centre discs; sixteen solid gold, engraved diamond-shaped scales radiated out from the centrepieces, the scales increasing in size until they reached the shoulders. The scales directly on his shoulders were large enough their points curved up at the outside ends, lending the piece a vaguely sinister look.

Like his cloak, only those knowledgeable in the Arts would be able to pick out how the engravings on the scales were actually runes, or what story they told.

In the centre of each diamond scale were beads of red jade, while chips of what looked to be green tourmaline gave the cobras eyes that seemed to flicker in the torchlight. Among other attributes, the stones functioned as reservoirs, able to hold raw energy to be tapped upon the wearer’s requirement; however the faint sounds of agonizing screams that seemed interwoven with the metal – heard only when in absolute silence – had been a clear enough indicator of how the item had historically been powered. 

As Jafar had no interest in treading down _that_ particular path, he instead had been carefully siphoning his own magic into them for weeks, causing the stones to hold flickers of light in their depths.

The reserves certainly wouldn’t be needed for his display this evening, but the premonition that had been scraping at him for weeks pushed him to enact contingencies he hadn’t had to for years.

In addition, the large black and red heliotrope that anchored three of Iago’s tail-feathers on his new turban served as yet another reservoir; though even with all his preparedness, Jafar still felt on edge.

_Basamun willing I am simply going senile, as Iago so often laments._

With that cheery thought to accompany him, Jafar accepted his newly polished staff from another servant, dismissing them all as he tucked a cedar flask the size of his palm into his sash and made his way to the open-air hall where the evening’s revelry was to take place.

Adornments aside, there _had_ been one particular reason – or person, rather – that had driven the particular design of the outfit itself, and the Royal Vizier idly wondered just how his half-brother was going to react when they came face-to-face. While the outfit was slightly ostentatious for a mere Royal Vizier, it was perfectly suitable for someone of royal standing, if a little lacking in the typical overabundance of gold and jewels.

Mirza had, of course, come for his niece’s wedding merely a handful of months ago, and having to pretend then that the Royal Vizier was just the Royal Vizier and not a hated half-brother he’d attempted to have killed decades ago, well; from time-to-time Jafar fondly reminisced on the toll the situation had clearly taken on the man.

_Petty, perhaps; but the entire situation is truly the best revenge I could have. His favourite sister’s daughter choosing the son of the bastard half-brother he hates the most as her husband!_

Lost in those gratifying thoughts, he nonetheless was aware when Iago joined him, the bird choosing to fly alongside rather than sit on the man’s shoulder as he normally cared to.

“Ugh, you’re wearing that old thing again?”

As the familiar made the same complaint every time Jafar wore the torque the man ignored him; not that ignoring Iago ever worked when he got in a snit.

“Of course, _you_ get the shiny jewellery, and the shiny new robes with the shiny threads and what do _I_ get? Zip! Zilch! Nada! I mean, you can’t really improve on perfection – “

Sighing heavily, Jafar came to a stop.

_Really, it’s like having another child._

“Iago – “

But the parrot was too busy complaining to listen, flying ahead and around a corner as he continued his litany. Waiting less than patiently, it was only a few moments before the macaw came winging back, Jafar raising a forearm for the bird to land on.

Bird and man regarded each other silently for several moments, Iago hunkering down in a sulk.

Aware that they were going to be late, Jafar let the fit pass without comment, instead letting his staff hang in midair as he made a plucking motion in the air in front of him.

Head turned to get a better look, Iago puffed up in surprised pleasure, whistling excitedly and practically dancing on the Royal Vizier’s arm as he identified what the man now held.

At first glance it looked like a tangle of chains, but as Jafar traced sigils in the air the delicate golden chains moved to settle themselves fetchingly on the macaw.

A fine loop around his neck anchored loosely interwoven chains that snaked across the bird’s back to another loop that settled just before his legs, holding a bright yellow cat’s eye gem; another web of chains going across his belly anchored a large blue Hawk’s eye gem that shimmered fetchingly against the macaw’s red breast feathers.

While the cat’s eye stone should help Iago remain unnoticed as he flew around the gathering, the hawk’s eye stone would help fine-tune his ability to pick out if anyone was using the Arts. The blue gem would also make it easier for Jafar to see through Iago’s eyes and hear through his ears if need be.

Satisfied with the fit of the chains, Jafar conjured up a small water mirror so the bird could see what he looked like.

Iago was so thrilled he nearly fell off the Royal Vizier’s arm as he turned and twisted, trying to see every angle.

 _Vain little creature,_ he thought fondly, lips curving up at the irony of the statement.

Chuckling indulgently, Jafar grabbed his staff and resumed his trek, the sounds of music and merriment growing steadily louder.

Iago eventually remembered he could speak, and finally turned to look at Jafar with a rapidly pinning eye.

“Can I keep it?!”

Smiling grimly, the Royal Vizier made sure they would not be overheard before murmuring, “Perhaps. The wind has been speaking to me, Iago. I cannot yet understand what it has been saying, however…”

Serious now, the bird bobbed his head. “I’ve heard nothing concerning around the Palace,” he offered, “– at least, nothing that we don’t already know and are concerned about.”

“Keep listening,” Jafar ordered as they neared the hall, “The stones will aid you. And for the love of all the old gods – _don’t_ go opening your beak around these people!”

“Kill my fun why don’tcha?”

With a martyred sigh, Iago took wing as Jafar stepped forward to be announced, and the Royal Vizier shifted his expression into the pleasantly bland mask he would no doubt be making extensive use of over the next handful of days.

_Let the games begin._

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	11. Chapter 11

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The hall was packed, guests of every stripe as far as the eye could see and yet outnumbered practically three to one by servants, bodyguards, and various entertainers that threaded their way through the throng.

The noise was incredible; various musicians all competing with each other and all the dozens of conversations taking place simultaneously. Had the room had a roof, the sound would have been absolutely deafening.

There was a brief but noticeable dip in the noise level as the Royal Vizier was announced, and Jafar mentally preened as he made his way to pay his respects to the Sultan.

He caught sight of one minor dignitary from Upanistan scowling and making a sign of warding as the Royal Vizier passed, and it took supreme effort to keep his lip from curling.

_Weak-witted fool. Making a sign of warding with the hand behind your back, even as you scoff into the one in front of your face! We’ll see if you are still scoffing by evening’s end._

He felt the shape of the flask against his waist and permitted himself a small smile. 

The hall was split in two by a rich red runner that led from the main entrance to a dais at the far end, on which the Sultan and his most honoured guests resided; tables were set up on either side of the runner, with guests crossing it easily as people moved between conversations.

As he made his way to the dais, the Royal Vizier could see Jasmine and Aladdin dancing out on the balcony, the young royals clearly enjoying themselves with those of similar age.

Pasting his most servile expression on his face as he climbed the few shallow steps of the dais, Jafar ensured his bow to the Sultan encompassed those sitting with Hamed – august personages including not only the Sultans of the other seven Desert Kingdoms, but also elders of the newest religion sweeping the sands – while still managing to convey that he was only acknowledging the other guests for etiquette’s sake.

“A thousand pardons for my lateness, your Majesty.”

The Sultan clapped in unmitigated glee at his arrival, the wicked glint in his eyes warning Jafar that he’d walked into a perfect set-up, though he couldn’t immediately see it.

“Nonsense Jafar, nonsense! Everyone, you all remember my Royal Vizier.”

Said Royal Vizier inclined his head obsequiously as Hamed introduced his guests – a mere formality for most of them, but one that had to be observed for protocol’s sake.

As the introductions continued, Jafar took the opportunity to update his impressions of the rulers of the Desert Kingdoms.

Mirza, of course, needed no more than a quick glance to see not much had changed since the wedding. In fact, his current swallowed-a-horned-viper expression was remarkably similar to the one he’d worn then.

Grinning could be misconstrued, and so Jafar settled for a quick, smug flash with his eyes before shifting his attention.

The Sultans of Afghanistan and Ghanistan looked like cats that had stolen fresh fish, and Jafar had to fight an instinctive reaction to curl his lip contemptuously at them. Their boys had also been in the running – at least initially – as suitors for Jasmine, and no doubt their issue’s brawling triumph over their romantic rival had been thoroughly, if quietly, toasted.

_I pray your sons will be as over-confident, O my Sultans._

The Sultan of Quirkistan was a woman old enough to be the Royal Vizier’s mother, and her lips seemed permanently curved in a conspiratorial smile that gave the impression that not only did she know everything that was going on, but that she’d seen how it ended and was highly amused by it.

Jafar had always had the faint suspicion that the woman viewed the rest of them as being somewhere between cute, brainless puppies and loud, clueless children.

The Sultan of Getzupanistan had had twin daughters who’d married twin brothers, resulting in the splitting of the kingdom into the sovereignties of Getzistan and Upanistan; upon his abdication the man had become the joint ambassador for both, though spending the majority of his days – or so Jafar had heard – tending to his vast gardens when he wasn’t busy seeing to the interests of the kingdoms.

Though he’d lost the use of his legs after a camel riding accident some decades ago, his gaze was no less sharp for his advanced years, and Jafar refreshed his mental note on not treating the man like an invalid.

Sultan Altan of Pakistan was the sole unknown, a man about Hakim’s age, and dark as one who spent most of his days under the harsh desert sun. When the previous Sultan had died without an heir, the ensuing civil war between his Royal Vizier and Captain of the Guard had nearly wiped the kingdom off the map. Everything Jafar had been able to find out about the man spoke of a charismatic leader of a small nomadic tribe, one who’d managed to climb his way to the top over a not-inconsequential mound of bodies – including those of the Royal Vizier and Captain of the Guard; though rumours suggested that since taking the throne he’d learned not everything could be solved with a swing of a scimitar.

The sardonic look in the man’s eyes seemed to suggest he knew exactly what the Royal Vizier was thinking, and Jafar couldn’t help a small nod of acknowledgement.

The last guests were elders of the new religion called Islam, one that had been slowly spreading north from beyond the Desert Kingdoms for the last decade; though like previous monotheistic religions before it, Jafar expected the popularity to wane once the novelty wore off and people reverted to the Gods they’d known all their lives.

However, as this new religion was still on the rise – and given that his own Sultan was a staunch believer – Jafar was always careful to treat its representatives with respect.

“Please, join us,” Hamed gestured affably towards an empty cushion, though the look in his eyes was calculating.

Jafar remained standing, mind sharpening as he realized the next move in the kingdom-wide game of _chaturanga_ had been made. By inviting Jafar to take a seat, Hamed was implicitly saying he considered the Royal Vizier to be of an equal rank with not only himself, but his guests; something the other Sultans would never stand for, never mind that his son was now the Prince.

_And so the real show begins._

“Your graciousness knows no bounds, most honourable Sultan. However, your humble servant would not dare presume to elevate himself as high as those august personages whom are seated before me.”

Not quite hidden scoffs from most of the men seated along the table, though Sultan Jorawar gave a soft laugh as she absently fanned herself.

Before anything could truly get started, Hamed chuckled and rose to his feet, nodding to a guard standing by a large bronze gong. Picking up his beater, the guard lightly tapped the centre of the hanging disk, starting a roaring sound that spread among the assembled guests like a wave.

Hamed waited until not even the echoes of the sound could be heard before speaking, Jasmine and Aladdin having returned to stand by his side in the meantime.

“Honoured guests! I welcome you to Agrabah – “

Jafar listened with only half an ear as the Sultan began with the now-familiar litany of welcome and thanks to Allah, taking the time to sink into a light trance.

His teacher had called it ‘soul-walking’; sending an aspect of yourself out on the winds in order to check for ambushes, or to eavesdrop on conversations.

A lazy circuit of the room didn’t net him much of worth, and after deciding that Hamed would be a little while yet, Jafar decided to take a glimpse at what Iago was seeing.

It always took a few heartbeats in order to interpret what he saw when he linked with the parrot, the bird’s vision encompassing much more than a mere human’s.

This time, however, it was rapidly obvious Iago’s eye – and mind – were on other, rather more mundane concerns.

_*You even think of touching so much as one melon wedge and I will turn you into a new paperweight.*_

Long practice meant it took very little effort speak mind-to-mind, and the passage of years had also allowed for emotions to be passed back-and-forth along their bond; meaning Iago’s whining came through aggravatingly clear.

_*But I’m starving! No one will know if I take just one little piece….*_

The part of his mind listening to Hamed indicated the Sultan was beginning to wrap things up, and Jafar relented.

_*One piece. And then back to work!*_

He withdrew from Iago as applause broke out, signalling the end of the Sultan’s speech, and he came back to himself just in time to catch the slight nod from Hakim.

Settling himself into his role as Royal Vizier, Jafar let his lips curve up in a small, mysterious smile as he strode forward, sweeping imperiously down the stairs.

A brief flicker out of the corner of his eye was all the warning he had before the flying rug was before him, perfectly placed for his next step.

For all that _that_ hadn’t been part of his plans, Jafar didn’t hesitate.

Stepping confidently onto the carpet he soaked in the gasps of awe as it rose, stopping once it was high enough he had a clear view of the entire hall.

Taking a slow, deep breath, Jafar projected his voice as he spread his arms wide.

“Loyal citizens! Honoured allies! Most esteemed guests! Welcome –“

His free hand dipped into his sash and grabbed the flask, unstoppering it and tossing its contents into the air as the eyes of his cobra staff glowed red.

“– to Agrabah!”

More gasps of awe as a river of shimmering sand hung in the air in front of Jafar, the silhouette of the city rising above it. There was more than what the small bottle should have physically held, and he felt the thrill that always came when he used the Arts.

“A city of mystery –“

The sand shifted, the city being replaced with the Cave of Wonders, light spilling from its eyes and mouth.

“Of enchantment –“

The sand shifted now into the shapes of dancing girls, the glamour Jafar laid over the shapes making the girls seem as real as the guests as they danced through the crowds, tossing flower petals over people before collapsing and rising as warriors who brandished wicked-looking scimitars.

“Of _possibility_!”

The warriors collapsed to rise as caravans and a fleet of ships, sailing around the room on a river of sand, flags flapping in an unfelt wind and somehow bearing the scent of salt water in their wake.

Now Jafar switched to the history of Agrabah, the sand illustrating the story as he spoke.

There was the very first Sultan Hamed of Agrabah, the sand shifting to portray the man as well as each of the forty leaders of the clans that Hamed had united to establish the country.

Then, the civil war that broke out when Hamed died and his brother challenged the Prince for the right to the throne.

Cries of alarm rose from the guests as armies of realistic-looking warriors fought above and around them, the Prince and his would-be usurper dueling in the space in front of the dais; the Prince narrowly winning his duel before cutting off his opponent’s head and holding it high.

Sand collapsed and swirled and formed into a dizzying array of shapes, looking real and solid enough to touch, as more than one person attempted.

It was during the carefully phrased and staged display of Agrabah’s relationships with the other Desert Kingdoms that Jafar felt the feeling of premonition wash over his skin. In a way he couldn’t describe it felt more solid now – a thread of magic that suggested someone else using the Arts was nearby.

As it would be both personal and professional suicide to interrupt what he was doing just to hunt down a rogue magic user Jafar ignored it and continued on, growing ever more alert as the other continued to wind a thread of their magic through the magical remnants lingering in the air.

A brief moment of internal debate had him activating spells in two of his rings; should the other user show themselves, it’d be the work of a moment to incapacitate them. Alert and accordingly primed, he turned back to his task at hand.

For all its flash and dazzle, the entire show thus far had merely been a set-up for the finishing touch. By the time Jafar finished espousing the glorious future that was to come – with both Prince and Princess poised to accept the responsibility once Allah recalled their great and glorious Sultan, long may he live – a fine ribbon of sand wove in the air through the entirety of the room, one end hovering at the bottom of the dais, the other stretching up the shallow steps of it.

Like a taunt, he could feel a thread of the other’s magic lying alongside his own, and the ease with which it did so began to raise faint suspicions in the back of his mind.

Looking over the crowd, Jafar judged them ready as he concluded his speech – he needed this farce over with before the warning hourglass in the back of his mind ran out of sand.

“– for in Agrabah, remember: things aren’t always as they appear.”

A pause – and then he held his staff aloft, channeling the magic as it flowed through him and gave it shape before pointing the staff at the sand trail at the bottom of the dais.

Murmurs of delight changed to cries of alarm as the sand rippled and changed, swiftly taking the form of a large red and gold scaled body that wove its way between every table.

Around and around the snake’s coils formed, until at last the magic reached the top of the dais, resolving itself into the head of a large Egyptian cobra, massive hood extended.

More shouts as the snake reared back, snout twenty feet off the ground, forked tongue flicking out tauntingly before turning to the room at large. Floating to the side of the dais Jafar let his satisfaction show on his face – he had never done an illusion on this scale and with this level of complexity before, and it had gone perfectly.

The guards around the room – who had, for safety’s sake, known about the display ahead of time – remained alert but unconcerned, though Jafar could practically feel Hakim’s stare drilling holes into his skull.

And while ordinarily he would dismiss the man’s concerns as an over-reaction, there _was_ that other magic user to worry about –

“Splendid, Jafar! Absolutely splendid! You’ve outdone yourself this time!”

Jafar allowed himself to bask in his Sultan’s praise, though a subtle twitch of his fingers sent a Seeking spell out to follow the magic trail.

_Where are you hiding…_

He refocused on the blatantly thrilled Sultan – a feeling his guests clearly didn’t share to the same degree; Mirza had gone satisfactorily pale, for one. And then Hamed reached out, letting out an excited gasp as his hand – unlike with the earlier dancers – made contact.

“It’s _real_?!”

Aladdin looked torn between awe and horror as he also reached out, an impression echoed around the room as other guests touched the massive creature and reacted according to their personal inclinations.

Sweeping the Sultan a theatrical bow Jafar decided to call the magic back quickly, as his ears picked up the sounds of incipient hysteria coming from some of the guests.

As much fun as it was to rub the noses in of those who scoffed at his ability, he couldn’t afford to allow personal gratification to negatively affect his professional responsibilities.

_Ah well. I believe I have made my point._

Starting with the tail, the snake dissolved back into shimmering sand which was then funneled back into the cedar flask from which it came.

There was a resistance to the act that alarmed Jafar, though he kept his composure; of rather more concern was that his Seeking spell seemed to have dissipated without his say-so.

_I don’t like this._

Discreetly poking the flying carpet with his staff, he managed to convey that he wanted to be set down, casually standing between his Sultan and the remainder of the sand as it continued to funnel back into the flask.

Despite his concerns, the reversal process continued relatively smoothly up until the snake’s head was left; the image hovered oddly in the air a moment longer before reverting back to sand.

But instead of being sucked back into the flask, the sand coalesced into a humanoid form, and Jafar barely had time to signal to Hakim that this was _not_ part of the show before the sand began to fall away, once more resuming its path into the flask he held.

Something in Jafar froze as the vanishing sand confirmed his suspicions, revealing a tall, slim woman with long black hair and an angular face with sharp, jutting cheekbones.

She wore an ankle-length reddish-purple robe with wide, bell-like sleeves; black embroidery on all the hems complimented the black sash around her waist. The sand continued to be sucked back into the flask, only for the woman to snatch the last handful in midair.

Jafar corked the flask with nerveless fingers as the remaining sand shifted and reformed into a staff topped with a tri-colour N that the woman gripped with long, slender fingers.

Raising her free hand to confirm her long black hair was still perfect, Nasira bestowed a brilliant smile upon the Royal Vizier and spread her arms wide, blatantly unperturbed by the amount of palace guards that were hastily gathering around the Sultan as she beamed wickedly at Jafar.

“Little brother _,_ it’s been _ages_! Have you missed me?”

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